
•x--^' 









/? <3^^ 


























^B 


^^ 


-< 


'^oc 


>v^^ 


""-o 




J- 


^^K 


^ 


O 
•>> 




;3^ 














^^ * 


5^ 










K^ 


<%- 


# 






f 




.^'^ 


%, 


-i 


^ 



.0^" > 



^'^'iW 



o> ^V. 



\L- 



'<" 



-^ ^^^ 



/^^ 



A^^' 



X^ 



>. 






v\^' ^:r> 



>. 



..v^ 



.V '^ 









^'^ <^ 







.X^' ^, 



<^0 



Oo 



%. 



^ .0- 



> <; 



"^f 






c,-- ; ^.--11^ •:. ^\f' .^' - . <^. .'^^ 



.0 0. 



\ 



N " , ^ 















^^% "^ 



■^oo^ 






'^.A^^ N 



^. .-^^ 










.'^' 






\ * ^ > 



« 1 \ 



' * ^ . '^c^ 



A' 












•' ■"'^^■..^'' ^l 






V\ 



.^ 






, '^. ^ , ^ -* ^^ 



/ ^ 






:'^ .0 



■D 



cP' 



^ .0'^ 



.'^^ 









/. ^ 

/ -^ 



-o- 



-'^y. V^ 



-^^ 






O -^ , X 



•'^v> .-Vv^ 









./^^:#i^ 









^/^ y 






Oo. 



vn"^ ...V". %'"'^ 



o 



N . \ * yt. *';> 






.>■ 


















FOEEIGI ETCHINGS; 



OR 



§nilm Mddp 



OF THE 



OLD WORLD'S PLEASANT PLACES. 



BY 



J-A-ZS^ES 



■VsTTW" 



-V^jf^XjH,, 



^^;^ 



BURLINGTON, N. J. 
S. COATE ATKINSON, PRINTER 




1856. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand 
eight hundred and fifty-six, by 

JAMES W. WALL, 
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of New Jersey. 






PREFACE. 



Nothing but tlie oft repeated requests of friends, could 
have induced me to publish these fragments. Sir Henry 
Wotton is said to have given this advice to Milton when 
a young man, and about to travel in Italy: ^Hl viso sciolto 
ed i pensieri stretti" — " an open countenance, but close 
thoughts," or, in other words, "keep your thoughts to 
yourself, but let your eyes wander abroad." This advice 
of the old statesman^ might be very well given to those 
tourists, who after skimming over the surface of things 
in Europe, return home full of the conceit, that they are 
qualified to enlighten their countrymen upon the social, 
civil and political history of the countries they have visited. 
A tour of six months, or a year, flitting from city to city, 
as a general thing, confers no qualification upon a tourist, 
for so grave an undertaking. In these pages no such 
attempt has been made. They are mere outline sketches, 
thrown together at the solicitation of a few friends, upon 
whose indulgence I know I can throw myself for even the 
presumption of hearkening to their too partial requests. 



IV PREFACE. 

Like old Lylyin his Eupliues, "Iioas inforced to pre/erre 

their J'7'iendshi2:)j)e, before mine own fame — heinr/ more 

eare/ul to satisfy/ theire requesteSj than fearfull of other's 

reportes." 

This volume pretends not to be a connected account of 

an European tour; only a series of etchings, or outline 

sketches from memory, of pleasant places in the old world, 

whose historic associations clothed them with a pleasant 

charm, and surrounded them with a never failing interest. 

They are at best but random sketches, and lay claim to no 

great literary merit. 

J. W. W. 



CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER I. 
Edinburgh — Holyrood and its Associations — The Castle, . . 9 

CHAPTER II. 
Melrose Abbey — Abbotsford — Dryburg, . . . .SI 

CHAPTER III. 

A view of London from Waterloo Bridge — Excursion on the 
Thames — St, Mary Overies — The Tabard Inn — Temple 
Church, . . • 45 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Parks — The Mansion House — The Exchange — The Bank 
of England, , . 65 

CHAPTER V. 
Richmond — Twickenham — Strawberry Hill, . . . .84 

CHAPTER VI. 
Warwick — Kenilworth — Stratford — Charlicote, . . .94 

CHAPTER VII. 
Hampton Court — Bushy Park, 110 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Crossing the Channel — Paris — The Tuileries and its associa- 
tions — The Louvre — Place de la Concorde — The Churches 
of the Madeleine, St. Roch, and St. Denis, . . . .125 

CHAPTER IX. 

Departure from Paris — Macon — Geneva — Ride to Cbamonix 
— Mer de Glace — The Source of the Arveiron — Mont Blanc, 142 

CHAPTER X. 

Departure from Chamonix — Lake Leman and its shores — 
Vevay — Visit to Castle Chillon, 155 

CHAPTER XI. 

Ride to Berne — Berne — Basle — Strasburg — Baden-Baden — 
Heidelburg — Mayence, 1G2 

CHAPTER XII. 

The general appearance of Berlin — The Thier Garten — The 
Brandenburg Gate — The Unter den Linden — Statue of 
Frederick the Great, 132^ 

a2 



VI CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER Xiri. ' 

The Royal Library — The old and new Museum — The Cham- 
ber of Art — Christmas in Berlin, , 192 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Charlottenburg — Mausoleum to the Queen of Prussia — Her 
History — Potsdam — Tomb of Frederick the Great — The 
New Palace — Sans Souei — Death of Frederick the Great, 206 



JPJ^TIT II- 

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ANTIQUITIES OF ITALY. 

CHAPTER I. 

Porto D'Anzio • — Appearance of Naples — Confusion of its 
Streets — Pompeii — Its Destruction — Present appearance 
of the streets and buildings, ....... 219 

CHAPTER II. 

The Grotto of Posolipo — Pozzuoli — The Temple of Serapis — 
The Amphitheatre — Solfatara — Cicero's Villa — Lake Aver- 
nus — Misenum — The Tomb of Virgil, .... 246 

CHAPTER III. 

Approach to Rome — View from the Capitol — The Seven Hills 

— The Roman Forum and its Ruins, 259 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Arch of Titus — The Colosseum — The Meta Sudans — 
Arch of Constantino — Ruins of Nero's Golden Palace — Baths 
of Caracalla — Baths of Titus — Temple of Minerva Medica 

— Baths of Diocletian — Forum Boarium — Arch of Janus — 
Forum of Nerva — Trajan's Forum — Column of Trajan — 
Temple of Vesta, 274 

CHAPTER V. 

St. Peter's and the Vatican — Dimensions of the Vatican — 
Christian Epitaphs — Museo Chiarimonte — II Braccio Nuovo 

— Museo Pio Clementino — Ancient Sarcophagus — The 
Apollo — The Laocoon — Hall of Animals — Hall of Busts — 
Hall of the Greek Cross — Collection of Antiquities in Rome, 292 

CHAPTER VI. 

Origin of the Catacombs — Catacombs of St. Calixtus — Epi- 
tap hs — Little Chapels — Frescoes — Portrait of Christ — The 
Burial Place of St. Paul 314 



TO 

THE COMPANIONS OF MY TOUR; 

IRRADIATING HOME 

BY THEIR presence: 

AND 

GIVING AN ADDED CHARM 

TO EVERY EXCURSION 

FROM IT. 



FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 



CHAPTER I. 

HISTORIC MEMORIES OF EDINBURGH. 
Edinburgh — Holyrood, and its associations — The Castle. 

Edinburgh has well been styled '^a double city" — first, 
an ancient and picturesque built one, set upon a hill — and 
second, an elegant modern city, extremely classic in the 
architecture of its public buildings. 

The Capital of Scotland is situate in the northern part 
of the county of Mid Lothian, and about two miles distant 
from the Firth of Forth. Nothing can exceed the beauty 
of its site J while in the panoramic splendor^ presented 
from the elevated points of the city and neighborhood, no 
city in Europe surpasses it. Taking our stand on the 
edge of the deep ravine which divides the Old from the 
New Town, we have on one side the lofty and picturesque 
buildings of the ancient city ; on the other the elegant 
and classic structures of the modern Athens ; while before 
you, surmounting its almost inaccessible crag is the Castle 
of Edinburgh ; its formidable ramparts, still echoing with 
the tread of the miUtary sentinel; as in those stirring 



10 



FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 



days, "when thronged with watchers waiting for the 
coming of the foe/' and 

"From each mountain top, a flame 
Stream'd into the torpid air, 
Bearing token from the Border 
That the English host was there." 

No city in Europe is more interesting to the American 
traveller, than Edinburgh. Its associations are familiar; 
they are interwoven with the pleasant memories of his 
childhood. The early tales and legends of Scotland, that 
startled his young spirit in the hours of childhood's ecstacy 
here come thronging back with a vividness and distinct- 
ness truly overwhelming. In the picturesqueness of its 
location, and the natural beauties of its surroundings, no 
city in Europe can compare with it, except Naples; and I 
know of no view in the world, that so closely resembles 
that of the Bay of Naples, as the one which bursts upon 
the spectator, who ascends Calton Hill^ and looks out upon 
the magnificent panorama of stream, hill and woodland, 
which there unfolds in all its ravishing beauty before him. 
Below him, spreads the magnificent bay of the Firth of 
Forth, with its rocky islands — towards the south, are the 
pastoral acclivities of the Pentlands, and the more shadowy 
splendors of the Lammermoors, and the Grampians ; while 
behind him^ rise the summits of Arthur's Seat, and Salis- 
bury Crags, the haunted places of tradition; 

" Traced bke a map, the landscape lies, 
In cultured beauty, stretching wide, 
There, Pentland's green acclivities. 
There, Ocean with its azure tide 
There Sal'sbury Crag, and gleaming through 
Thy southern wing, Duneddin blue : 



EDINBURGH. 11 

While in the Orient, Lammer's daughters, 
A distant giant range are seen, 
North Berwick Law, with cone of green, 
And blue its dimpled waters." 

Go where you will in Scotland; you meet with some 
traces of the great and beautiful^ the gifted, or the fasci- 
nating, of former days : not only the ancient walls^ and 
castellated rocks of Edinburgh, teem with historic associa- 
tions of the highest interest : but in the short space of 
twenty miles, between Falkland and Stirling, are no less 
than four battle fields, on which England's fate was deter- 
mined by armies, almost as numerous, as those that met 
in conflict dire at Waterloo, Lochleven, exhibits the 
ruins of the mournful prison of beauty; Niddry Castle, 
the scene of her evanescent joys; the hills of Langside, 
witnessed her final overthrow; Cartlan Crags still show 
the Cave of Wallace ; Turnbury Castle, the scene of 
Bruce's first victory; and Culloden, the last battle field of 
generous fidelity. Every step in Scotland is alive with 
historic incident ; the shades of the dead arise on every 
side — The very rocks breathe, for 

" Each rock has there its storied tale ; 
Pouring a lay for every dale, 
Knitting as with a moral band. 
The native legends, with the land. 

And as it is with the rural localities of Scotland, so is 
it with the principal towns. There is hardly a street in 
the old town of Edinburgh, that has not its traditions j 
and the entire locality swarms with spectral beings of the 
past, that seem to start out from every nook, and corner. 
Yet there is no student either of romance, or of history, 
who does not give to the time-honored precincts of Holy- 



12 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

♦ 

rood, and its ruined Abbey Church, the preference over 
all others. How many wanderers from every region of 
the earth, have traversed the old thoroughfare of the 
Canongate, to visit these venerable piles ! 

Holyrood, like all the religious houses of Europe, has 
the authority of a legend, for its foundation. David I. 
of Scotland, not having much reverence for holy-days, 
would a hunting go on the festival of the exaltation of 
the cross, or Kood day, as it is styled in Romish missals. 
When in the ardor of the chase he had ridden to the foot 
of the crag, (now known as Arthur's Seat,) there suddenly 
rushed upon him from the wood, the fairest hart that was 
ever seen, dashing the royal hunter and his horse to the 
ground with great violence. But, as the affrighted 
monarch threw back his hands, to avoid the sharp antlers 
of the enraged stag, a holy cross, fell as it were from 
Heaven into his trembling fingers, and the radiance of the 
sacred emblem, so dazzled the eyes of the wild animal, 
that he fled affrighted from the sight. The gratefu^ 
King, thereupon resolved to erect upon the spot a House 
to be dedicated to the Holy Rood, the Virgin and all 
saints. Like all legends this no doubt was an after thought 
of some pious brother of the Abbey, for the purpose of 
throwing a supernatural lustre around the foundation of 
his House. Be this as it may, it is very certain that a 
Religious House, called the Abbey of Holyrood, existed 
on this spot, from the year 1128, t'o the days of the ill-fated 
James IV., who perished bravely, and like a King, on that 
fatal field of Flodden, where before the English foeman, 
rose 'Hhat mortal rampart,'' 

"Which the boldest, dare not scale; 
Every stone, a Scottish body, 



HOLYROOD. 13 

Every step, a corpse in mail ; 
While behind it, lay the monarch 
Clenching still, his shivered sword : 
By his side, Montrose, and Athol, 
At his feet, a southron Lord." 

About the year 1502, this ill-fated monarch, built a 
palace adjacent to the Abbey; and no sooner was the royal 
dwelling fit for habitation, than the bride of its founder, 
stepped across its threshold — that beautiful Margaret 
Tudor, the capricious daughter of Henry VII., from whom 
has descended the long line of sovereigns of the British 
Empire. 

In the year 1538, in the Abbey Church, whose graceful 
ruin, lingers like a thing of beauty, haunting the memory, 
was crowned the graceful and talented Mary of Lorraine, 
the second Queen of James V., and the mother of Mary, 
Queen of Scots — that Princess, whose blood courses now 
in more than two thirds of the reigning houses of Europe; 
whose personal charms, and tragic death have drawn elo- 
quence from the pens of so many historians ; filling the 
day-dreams of poets with glimpses of the serene loveliness 
of a face angelic in its beauty. In this palace erected 
by her ancestor, occurred those events which inseparably, 
connect Holyrood with her life ; and its gloomy apartments, 
with memories of the most thrilling interest. Here, she 
first reposed upon her arrival from the sunny land of France. 
and, in an evil hour was married to Lord Daroley— 
here, Rizzio was murdered almost at her feet — here, she 
enchained all that loved her, by the extreme beauty of 
her person, and the ravishing graces of her manner — 
Here too, born in '^ o'ertrying times," she was forced to 
endure those memorable^ and distressing interviews, with 



14 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

the stern and iron hearted leaders of the Scottish Refor- 
mation ; when Knox, ^^smote so hastily upon her heart, that 
it made her weep full sore.'^ 

This Palace witnessed the scene of her mysterious, and 
unnatural nuptials with Bothwell, and beneath its roof, 
she reposed the captive of her subjects, on that eventful 
night, before she was committed to the Castle of Lochle- 
ven, which she only left to be defeated on the Hills of Lang- 
side : and afterwards in a moment of mistaken confidence, 
to place herself in the power of Elizabeth, to be from that 
hour, the victim of one long train of dissimulation and 
vindictive ness; then in the end to perish, by the cruel and 
unjustifiable mandate of that 

" False woman, 
Her kinswoman, yet her foe." 

The Palace^ and ruined Abbey Church of Holyrood, 
are situate at the end of the ancient street in Edinburgh, 
known as the Canongate. The first is a gloomy looking 
structure^ with pinnacled turrets, and a dark exterior, that 
send a chill to the heart. The existing palace consists 
of the northwestern towers, (the only remnant of the royal 
dwelling of Queen Mary,) and the more modern structure 
erected by Charles II. The palace built by Charles is a 
quadrangular building, having a square court in the 
centre. At either extremity is a massive square tower, 
four stories high, having three circular towers or turrets 
at its exterior angles, which rise from the ground to the 
battlements of the main tower, terminating in conical 
roofs. Ascending a stone stair case from the piazza of 
the court yard, you enter the Picture Gallery at the first 
landings by a door on the right. An hundred portraits of 



HOLYROOD. 15 

Kings of Scotland^ from the misty times of Fergus I. 
down to the end of the Stuart dynasty look down upoii 
you from its walls. This chamher is historically interest- 
ing from the fact, that it was the ball room, used by the 
Pretender, during his brief occupation of Holyrood. It 
was here he gave that celebrated entertainment, which 
has derived immortality from the pen of the great modern 
master of Romance, and the first perhaps that had en- 
livened its deserted precincts for many a long year. 

The Young Pretender had that morning made his 
entrance into the royal palace of his ancestors. He had 
played the game most royally, in which the stakes were a 
coffin, or a crown. His daring foot had first pressed the 
desolate rocks of the Western Islands — and by the attrac- 
tions of a handsome and youthful person, associated, 
with the winning powers of a most earnest eloquence, he 
had overcome the scruples of a naturally cautious race : 
gathering round his standard, as gallant and devoted a 
band as ever fought in the cause of his family^ beneath 
the banners of Montrose and Dundee — in the words of the 
old border song, 

"Leaving their mountains, to follow Prince Charlie, 
Follow thee! follow thee ! who wad'na follow thee! 
Lang hast thou lo'ed, and trusted us fairly, 
Charlie! Charlie ! who wad na follow thee. 
King of the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie." 

In the very square directly in front of the Palace, Lochiel 
gathered his gallant Camerons, who had made themselves 
masters of Edinburgh, at early dawn ; and there on 
horseback, with a drawn sword in her hand, was that 
brave and enthusiastic woman, Murray of Broughton, dis- 
tributing with her own fair h^nds to the crowd^ the white 



■16 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

ribbon, or cockade, that emblem of devotion, to tbe cause 
of Stuart, and wbicb originated the following spirited 
Scottish song, 

" My love was born in Aberdeen, 
The bonniest lad that e'er was seen ; 
But now he makes our hearts fu' sad, 
He's ta'en the field, wi his white cockade. 

O ! he's a ranting, roving blade ; 
O! he's a brisk, and bonnie lad ; 
Betide what may, my heart is glac*. 
To see my lad wi' his white cockade. 

I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel, 

My rippling kame, and spinning wheel, 

To buy my lad, a tartan plaid, 

A braidsword and a white cockade. 

1^11 sell my rokeby, and my tow. 

My glide grey mare, and brindled cow, 

That every loyal Buchan lad, 

May tak' the field, wi' his white cockade." 

Very nearly at the same hour, with this gathering in 
the square, high up upon the mountain slope beyond the 
walls, and near the classic pool of St. Anthony's Well, stood 
the young Prince himself looking down for the first time 
upon the ancient palace of his forefathers, with all its glo- 
rious natural surroundings, every foot of which was intimate- 
ly connected with the pastimes, the sorrows, and the brief 
triumphs of his strangely unfortunate race. At noon he 
entered the ancient city, the mob in their mad enthusiasm,, 
pressing forward to kiss his hands, then actually "dimming 
his very boots with their tears/' and at night, plume and 
tartan were mingling in the dance, to the merry music of 
pibroch, and harp on the polished floor of this old Hall. 
There in that gay and gallant company, might be 



HOLYROOD. 17 

discerned the bold devoted Fergus Mclvor, the high- 
minded Flora McDonald, and the gentle woman like 
Rose Bradwardine. A few short days, and on Culloden'i 
fatal field, 

" There the broken clans were scattered, 

Gaunt as wolves, and famine-eyed, 

Hunger gnawing at their vitals, 

Hope abandoned, all but pride, 

Pride, and that supreme devotion 

Which the Southron, never knew, 

And the hatred, deeply rankling, 

'Gainst the Hanoverian crew. 

Chief and vassal, Lord, and yeoman. 

There they lay in heaps together, 

Smitten by the deadly volley, 

Rolled in blood upon the heather." 

You pass on by the door of the chamber, that , has 
awakened such reflections to the suite of gloomy apart- 
ments, known as Darnley's. There is nothing very 
remarkable in these chambers, save some hideous-look- 
ing portraits of the Hamilton family so celebrated in 
Scottish history. There is in one of the apartments, a 
portrait of Charles II., an ill-looking dog, on whose 
features lust has stamped its impress. Keturning through 
Darnley's apartments, and leaving them by the left hand 
door of the Audience Chamber^ you ascend a narrow, and 
dark stairway, to enter what historians, poets, and nove- 
lists have combined to render the most interesting suite of 
apartments in Europe — the chambers once occupied by 
the ill-fated Mary, Queen of Scots. The first is the Pre- 
sence Chamber, where on all state occasions, Mary had her 
receptions. The roof is divided into pannelled compart- 
ments, adorned with the initials and armorial bearings of 

royal personages, and the walls are hung with ancient 
b2 



18 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

tapestry, the color of wticli lias been almost obliterated 
by the uncourtly hand of Time ; a few of the embroidered 
chairs that once graced this chamber still stand against 
the walls ; a large double one is shown, with the initials 
of Mary, and Darnley worked in, by the Queen's own 
hands, which once stood upon the raised platform of the 
throne of Scotland. There is a portrait suspended near the 
ancient fire-place, said to be of Mary, though it is clearly 
not her's; but looks in the sharpness of its lines, and with 
the crisp red hair curled so primly at the temples, more 
like the portrait of her hateful rival and persecutor Queen 
Elizabeth. An old high-post bedstead, with its velvet 
curtains mouldering and moth-eaten, stands in one corner 
of the room. It was upon this, Charles I., reposed the 
night after his coronation in Scotland, and the young Pre- 
tender, here slept for the last time in the Palace of his 
ancestors. It was in this chamber, that the stern Refor- 
mer Knox^ had his insulting interview with Mary, when 
in her rage, she exclaimed, " never was Prince handled 
as I am. I have borne with you in all your rigorous man- 
ner of speaking, both against myself, and my uncles ; yea 
I have sought your favor by all possible means. I offered 
unto you presence and audience, and yet it seems I can- 
not be quit of your unbridled insolence. I vow to Grod, 
I shall be revenged." To all this, with unblenching brow, 
and unshaken front, Knox replied: ^*^most true it is, 
madame ; your Grrace and I, have been at divers contro- 
versies together. Without the preaching place, madame, I 
am not master of myself; for I must obey Him, who com- 
mands me to speak plain, and to flatter no flesh upon 
earth :'' and then turning to the gaily dressed ladies, who 
surrounded her, and fixing his keen grey eyes upon them, 



HOLYROOD. 19 

lie said in a bantering tone ; *' fair ladies, how pleasing 
is this life of yours, if it would ever abide, or if in the 
end ye might pass to Heaven, with all this fine gear. But 
fie upon the Knave Death, who will come, whether we 
will or not; and then when he has laid on his arrest, the 
foul ugly worms will be busy with this flesh, be it ever so 
fair, and tender ; and as for the silly soul, I fear it will be 
so feeble, that it will not be able to carry with it, gold 
garnishing; targetting, and precious stones." 

A^isions of the many thrilling scenes, enacted in this 
old Audience Chamber, come thronging upon the mind, as 
you stand within its now desolate precincts. Here Mary 
received the homage from many a noble Scottish heart, 
but oftener from hearts that, even in her presence^ were 
hatching treason against her realm, and person. Arras, 
and cloth of gold, once covered these old walls — cabinets 
from Ind, and Venice, of filagree gold and silver, or- 
namented the interior of this chamber — lamps of silver 
were hanging from the pendant pinnacles of the fret- 
ted ceiling, emblazoned with the royal arms of Scotland, 
and the escutcheon of the Queen^ impaling the royal 
lilies of France. It was over this old polished floor of oak, 
the ruthless murderers dragged the screaming Eizzio, to 
pour out his life-blood, from sixty-two gaping wounds, that 
had been opened by Scottish daggers. 

From this Audience Chamber, you pass by a low door 
into the bed room of Mary. The ceiling, like that of 
the Audience Chamber, is divided into compartments of 
diamond form, adorned with the emblems and initials of 
Scottish sovereigns — while its walls are rustling with the 
fluttering of decaying tapestry. The historic and romantic 
incidents connected with this chamber, render it unques- 



20 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

tionably tlie most interesting apartment in the Palace ; 
"while its melancholy and faded aspect, are in perfect keep- 
ing with its tale of sorrow^ and of crime. It is indeed 
a melancholy looking apartment now, with its wretched 
paintings o'er the mantle, its shreds of silken tapestry 
fluttering from the walls, and the high-backed and grotesque- 
ly looking carved chairs, alone attesting its former magni- 
ficence. Here stands the bed, where care so often visited 
her unquiet pillow — its once beautiful canopy in rags, its 
richly carved oaken posts mouldering, and worm-eaten ; 
while the embroidered coverlid that adorned it, is in 
shreds and tatters. Close by it, stands a large round basket 
of wicker-work, once used by the unfortunate Queen to 
hold the baby-linen of her son. Upon a stand near the 
window is her work-box, once no doubt very elegant, as it 
was a present from the young Dauphin of France before 
her marriage; but it bears now very few traces of its 
former magnificence. As you lift the lid and look into 
its tarnished French mirror, with the lustre almost gone, 
you think how often it must have reflected the sad sweet 
face of its fair owner. How often she must have gazed 
mournfully at this memento of early affection, recalling 
as it did, those halcyon hours of youth and happiness, gone 
never to return, and appearing all the stronger, by the 
contrast with the gloomy haurs, which so often struck a 
chill to the heart, in the dark and sombre chambers of 
Holyrood. 

From this bed-room, doors lead into two small turret- 
like chambers. That chamber on your left hand as you 
enter the bed-room, was used by Mary as a dressing-room 
and oratory. Her private altar was erected here, and they 
still show, the exquisitely carved candelabra that adorned 



HOLYBOOD. 21 

it. A few articles that once graced her toilet, may also be 
seen upon the table, together with the fragments of an old 
French mirror, its silvering gone, and frame . decayed. 
Directly opposite the door of this oratory, is the memora- 
ble little turret chamber, where Mary was seated at supper, 
with Rizzio, the Countess of Argyle, and one or two other 
friends; when the poor Italian was torn screaming from her 
presence, and dispatched by sixty-two wounds, in one corner 
of thatu Adience Chamber, we have just left. The true 
story of that murder most foul, I believe to be as follows : 
Mary was seated in this little turret chamber, that 
opened into her bed room, at one of those small parties, 
in the easy cheerfulness of which she took great pleasure. 
Beside her sat the Countess Argyle, her sister, and one or 
two others; while Rizzio occupied a seat at the other end of 
the small table. No noise is heard, no suspicion entertained. 
The Palace is quietly surrounded by several adherents of 
the conspirators under Morton. A private staircase, led 
from Darnley's apartment below, to Mary's bed room; and 
by this the young Prince ascends, seats himself at the side 
of the Queen, and with the easy familiarity of the hus- 
band, puts his arm around her waist. Shortly after, 
upon a given signal from Darnley, the curtain of the door, 
leading into the bed chamber is lifted, and in stalks the 
fierce Ruthven, in complete armor, his face ghastly alike 
with sickness and ferocity. Mary quickly disengages her^ 
self from the clasp of Darnley, confronts the miscreant, 
and with that courage for which she was so remarkable ; 
and the early manifestation of which once induced her 
uncle of Guise to say to her; '^had you lived in the days 
when women went into battle, you would have taught your 
troops how to die well" — she sternly demanded ^he 



22 



FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 



cause of the intrusion, and ordered him instantly to leave 
her apartment. But ere he could reply, the door opening 
into the bed room, was crowded with men bearing torches, 
and brandishing daggers. The next instant, Kerr of 
Falconside, and Greorge Douglass, a kinsman of Morton's, 
rush in, dash down the table almost upon the Queen, then 
dart upon Rizzio, who in an instant shelters himself 
behind Mary, seizing upon her gown and screaming fran- 
tically, justice! justice! madame, save my life! For a 
moment, his appeal and entreaties keep them back: but 
Darnley seizing the Queen, tries to tear Rizzio's grasp 
from her gown^ and Douglass snatching Darnley's dagger 
from its sheath, stabs the crouching Italian, over Mary's 
shoulder, and left the weapon sticking in his body. The 
rest of the conspirators, now at this first sight of blood, 
rush like furious hounds upon their prey, tear him from 
the grasp of the agonized Queen, and drag him shrieking 
and struggling on, through the bed and Audience Chamber, 
stabbing him as they went, until in one corner he fell, 
and died pierced with sixty-two wounds. 

Nothing can show more strongly the ferocious manners 
of the times, than an incident which now occurred. 
Ruthven faint from weakness, and reeking from this 
scene of bloody staggered back again into the Queen's 
cabinet, where Mary still stood^ overwhelmed with appre- 
hension. Here he insolently threw himself upon a seat, 
called for a cup of wine, and being reproached for the 
cruelty of his conduct, by the outraged Queen, not only 
vindicated himself and his associates^ but plunged a new 
dagger into the fluttering heart of his young and beautiful 
sovereign, by declaring that Darnley her husband, had 
ftdvised the whole. Mary was then ignorant of the com- 



SOLYROOD. 23 

pletion of the murder : But suddenly one of ber ladies 
rushed into the room exclaiming, '^ poor Ilizzio is slain." 
"And is it so?'' said the indignant Queen_, fixing her flash- 
ing eyes upon Ruthven — "then farewell tears^ it shall be 
dear hlude to some of you. I will now study revenge.'' 
The other assassins escaped from a window on the North 
side of Darnley's apartments, leaping over the garden wall 
near a small lodge, which is still standing, and where but 
a few years since, a rusty dagger was found deeply cor- 
roded with blood, and bearing the stamp of the family 
crest of Douglass, one of the conspirators. 

It would be hard now, in looking at the little turret 
chamber, where this dreadful scene was enacted, to imagine 
that it could ever have been the favorite retreat of royalty, 
although traces of its former splendor are still discernible 
in the fragments of silk-hangings still fluttering from its 
dreary walls. It is a gloomy looking spot now, and really 
seems as if blasted by the terrible tragedy once enacted 
within its precincts. A portrait of Ilizzio hangs over the 
the door, a sweet melancholy face, with large lustrous Ita- 
lian eyes: in gazing at it, one knows not how to reconcile 
its genuineness, with the contemporary tales of his fright- 
ful ugliness. One chronicler gives us this portrait of the 
Italian secretary — " He is quite ill-favored, having a de- 
formed body, and a most ungracious visage. '^ How far 
this portraiture was colored by personal hatred to the sub- 
ject, we cannot say. In one corner of this chamber, is a 
helmet and breast-plate very much rust-eaten and corroded, 
said to have been the very one worn by the fierce Ruthven, 
when the foul deed of Rizzio's murder was done. As you 
pass out again through the Audience Chamber, just by the 
head of the ricketty stairway^ your attention is called to a 



24 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

large dark stain upon the floor, said to have been caused 
by the blood of the murdered Italian. It is a large stain, 
but not larger than would be produced by the crimson fluid, 
pouring from sixty -two gaping wounds: and when it is 
remembered that the bleeding body lay here all night, one 
is readily inclined to believe the story. 

You pass down from Mary's apartments, through the 
Quadrangle, and so into the ruin of what was once the 
Koyal Chapel of Holyrood. It is certainly a graceful frag- 
ment of the fine old Gothic pile, with its long rows of 
clustered columns, still supporting many of their carved 
capitals entire. The aisles are literally floored with sculp- 
tured grave-stones, some of which belong to the period 
when "the Chapel Eoyal'^ was the Canongate Parish Kirk : 
but on most of them, may still be noticed the elaborate 
carved cross, indicating that beneath repose the abbots of 
the ancient monastery. Many and varied are the associa- 
tions connected with this Chapel. Within it^ until the 
royal sanctuary of the dead was sacrilegiously invaded, 
slept the buried majesty of Scotland, 

" Life's fever o'er," 

At the eastern extremity, just beneath this graceful Gothic 
window, which once through its gorgeous panes dyed^with 
prismatic hues the high altar, did Mary in an evil hour 
give her hand to the unprincipled and dissipated Darnley. 
On that eventful occasion, she was attired in mourning, as 
if foreshadowing the gloom, which was so soon to lower 
about her house. She had worn that dress, as she stood 
a widowed Queen, by the remains of her husband, the 
young King of France: and it was proper, as she then 
stood upon the brink of that grave where her happiness 



HOLYROOD. 25 

was to be forever entombed, tliat sbe sbould once more 
assume the habiliments of woe. 

The ancient doorway of this chapel, is a noble, high 
arched, and deeply recessed one; in its architecture be- 
longing to the best years of the early English style in 
Scotland. Above this doorway, on a tablet inserted by 
Charles I., is the curious inscription : '^ He shall build 
ane house, for my name, and I will stablish his Throne 
forever;" a text most strangely chosen, if intended in its 
prophetic spirit, to apply to that sceptre, which was 
already trembling in his grasp. The grave of the unfor- 
tunate Kizzio, is pointed out in that part of the chapel 
floor, which by the intrusion of the palace buildings, has 
been formed into a passage leading to the quadrangle. 
The marks of the old doorway, that opened into the private 
passage, leading through Darnley's, up to Mary's apart- 
ments^ and by which the conspirators found ready en- 
trance^ may still be seen: Mary had it walled up, but 
the outlines of the old door^ are still plainly visible in the 
plaster. 

As the conspirators passed through that holy place, "on 
their fell deed intent," one might suppose, they would 
have hesitated, before they sent the poor Secretary to his 
last account. 

" In the blossom of his sins, 

With all his imperfections on his head, 

Unhouselled, unanointed, unannealed." 

It would not be proper to dismiss Holyrood, without a 

brief allusion to the tragic end of ''Mary Stuart, the spell 

of whose presence haunts it," from turret to foundation 

etone." 
c 



26 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

On the 7th of February 1586, at Fotheringay Castle^ 
"where for eighteen long years, she had dragged on a 
weary imprisonment — two Noblemen of England were 
ushered into the presence of the captive Queen, bearing 
the dread warrant of her execution. Years of sorrow, had 
silvered o'er those locks, once so beautiful, that an ena- 
mored French poet, had declared them 

"Streaming curls, steeped in golden sunshine." 

The agonies and privations of a long confinement, had 
robbed her figure of its elasticity and litheness; but failed 
to touch the majesty of her mien. 

She was seated at the foot of her humble bed, busy with 
embroidery work, while near by stood her physician, and 
her women. When the dreadful mandate was read, to 
which she listened with earnest attention ; she made the 
sign of the cross, and raising her melancholy eyes, lit 
with a tearful power towards Heaven ; thanked her gra- 
cious God, that the welcome news had at last come; de- 
claring "how happy she could be, to leave a world, where 
she had suffered so cruelly.^' Then after a most eloquent 
and touching defence of the tenets of that Church, she 
loved so well — burst forth in that noble protest, which 
must have sunk into the heart of Elizabeth, (unless it 
was harder than the nether millstone,) as the iron at a 
white heat, sinks into the quivering, tortured flesh : " I 
have been treated ^with ignominy, and injustice — impri- 
soned, contrary to faith and treaties, kept a captive for 
nineteen years, and at last condemned to die by a tribunal, 
whose jurisdiction I deny, and for a crime, of which, I call 
High Heaven to witness, I am as innocent as a babe ; and 
now my Lords, all I have to ask is, when is the time fixed 
for my execution?'' " To morrow morning, madame, at 



MARY, QUEEN OP SCOTS. 27 

eight of the clock, in the large Hall of this Castle/' was the 
quick and heartless reply : But her bold spirit blenched 
not — the blood of Charlemagne was beating full in that 
brave heart — The soul was hers of the gallant hearted 
King, her grandfather, who '^ had kept royal state and sem- 
blance on Flodden's bloody field, with the banner of Scot- 
land round him for a shroud. 

Upon the departure of the noblemen, Mary called in a 
calm voice to her women, and bid them prepare supper, 
that she might have time to arrange her affairs. '^Cease 
weeping, Jane Kennedy, said she, to one of her faithful at- 
tendants and be busy ! Did I not warn you, my child, that it 
would come to this, and now blessed be God, it has come, 
and fear and sorrow are at an end. Weep not, but rejoice, 
that you now see your poor mistress so near the end of 
all her troubles. Dry your eyes and let us pray together. 

After supper, she called for her ladies, and asking for 
a cup of wine, she drank to them all, begging them to 
pledge her, which they did upon their knees, mingling 
their tears in the cup, and then asking her forgiveness, if 
in anything they had offended. At two in the morning 
she lay down, having made all her arrangements, while 
her women watched and read at her bedside. Read to me, 
said she, from the lives of the saints, the life of the repentant 
thief which treats of dying faith, and divine compassion : 
and after it was read to her, she remained silent, com- 
muning with her own heart for some time, and then said 
— alas, he was a great sinner, but not so great as I am ! 
may my Saviour in memory of his passion, have mercy upon 
me, as he had on him ! At this moment, remembering 
that a handkerchief would be required to bind her eyes at 
her execution, she bid them bring several, and selecting 
one of the finest, embroidered in gold, laid it carefully 



28 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

aside^ then ordered tliem to resume their reading : and so 
passed away the hours of early dawn, until it was within 
a short space of the fatal time. Then rising, she made her 
toilet, passed into her oratory, and after remaining some time 
in earnest prayer, came out, and awaited in silence and 
perfect composure the dread summons. 

On the arrival of the Sheriff, she ordered him imme- 
diately to turn, and lead on. Her servants throwing 
themselves at her feet, clasped their mistress in convulsive 
grief around the knees, endeavoring to stay her advance ; 
but gently disengaging herself she reached the door : 
and at this point, the brutal official, sternly commanded 
them to proceed no farther, Mary remonstrated earnestly, 
but in vain. She then bade them adieu, while they in 
frantic earnestness, clung to her robes, covering her hand 
with kisses, and bathing it with their tears. They 
were only taken from her by force, and locked up in 
the apartment. And there alone, that undaunted soul, 
with a majesty of port that awed the High Sheriff, passed 
down the lofty staircase, to the entrance door of that 
Hall, where she was to die. A dress of black f atin, 
matronly in its fashion, but passing rich in its material, 
was worn that day, with more than ordinary grace. A 
long white veil of crape hung over her face, an Agnus 
Dei was suspended by a pomander chain from her neck, 
while her beads of gold hung at her girdle. Like Montrose, 

"As a gay bride, from her room 
Came the Sticart from her prison, 
To the scaffold, and the doom. 
There was glory on her forehead, 
There was lustre in her eye, 
And she never moved to battle 
More proudly, than to die 1" 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 29 

At tlie door of the great Hall, she was received by the 
Earls of Shrewsbury and Kent, who to use their own 
words/^ marvelled at the perfect tranquility^ and unaffected 
grace with which she met them/' As she was about to 
enter the Hall, one more touching appeal was made 
by her, that ^' the poor servants might be permitted 
to see her die/^ At last even the flinty hearts of 
Shrewsbury and Kent, were moved, and faithful Jane 
Kennedy, and Elizabeth Curl, together with her much 
attached physician, were sent for. She then entered the 
great Hall, with the dignity of a Queen ; Melville, who 
had joined her at the entrance bearing her train, the 
weeping servants following in the rear, and accompanying 
her up to the very scaffold, which had been erected at the 
upper part of the room. It was a raised platform about 
two feet in height, and twelve broad surrounded by a rail, 
and covered with black cloth. Upon it were placed a low 
chair, two other seats, and the dreadful block : By its 
side, stood the two executioners masked, while the gleam- 
ing axe flashed from between them. Mary gazed on all 
this dread array, without the least change of countenance, 
and smilingly mounted the steps, with the grace and 
dignity she ever manifested in ascending the steps of her 
throne. Just before she knelt down to receive the fatal 
blow, Kent in the excess of his bigotted zeal, and with 
that malicious cruelty, only to be found in the hearts of 
religious persecutors, observing her intently regarding the 
crucifix, said in a harsh tone : "Woman ! renounce such 
antiquated superstitions, that image of Christ serves to 
little purpose, if you have him not engraved upon your 
heart.'' And oh ! what a scathing rebuke, was that meek 
and christian-like reply of the gentle spirit who stood 

there face to face with death — "Ah! my Lord, there is 
c2 



so rOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

nothing more becoming a dying christian, than to carry 
in her hands the remembrance of her redemption : How 
impossible my Lord is it, to have such an object in the 
hands, and keep the heart nnmoved/' Then bowing her 
head she remained some time in prayer : and there upon 
her knees, with hands clasped together, and raised towards 
heaven, while divine serenity lighted up her beautiful 
features, did Mary Stuart invoke forgiveness upon her 
persecutors. Then kissing the crucifix, and making the 
sign of the cross, she exclaimed, ''as thine arms, my 
Grod, were spread out upon the cross, so receive me 
within the arms of thy mercy.'' She then repeated that 
beautiful Latin prayer composed by herself. 

" O Domine Deus ! speravi in te; 
O care mi Jesu ! nunc libera me, 
In dura catena, in misera paena desidero te, 
Languendo gemendo, et genu flectendo, 
Adoro! imploro ! ut liberes me ,• 

Which might be paraphrased thus ; 

"In this last solemn and tremendous hour, 
My Lord and Saviour, I invoke thy power; 
In this sad pang of anguish and of death, 
Receive, O, Lord ! thy suppliant's parting breath, 
Before thy hallowed cross, she prostrate lies, 
O, hear her prayers, commiserate her sighs. 
Extend the arms of mercy, and of love, 
And bear her to thy peaceful realm above." 

Scarcely had the last sad tones of this beautiful prayer, 
died upon her lips, when the signal was given, that all 
was ready. Quickly blindfolding her eyes, she knelt down, 
and groping with both hands, seemed to feel eagerly for 
the block; which when reached, she laid her slender 
neck upon it^ without a sign of trembling, or hesitation — 
Her last words, just before the dread moment, when 



THE CASTLE. 81 

"The gleaming axe did part 

The burning brain, from that true heart," 

were, " Into thy hands, I commend my spirit, for thou 
hast redeemed me, Lord God of Truth/' Surely, such a 
death, even in the estimation of her bitterest enemies^ 
must have atoned for all the errors of her life — Surely, 
these Stuarts, if they knew not how to live, had strangely 
learned^ what knowing how to live, always teaches, namely, 
how to die. 

In going to the Castle, from Ilolyrood, you pass through 
the Canongate Street, so full of interesting localities. 
Near the head of the Canongate stands the old house, 
once occupied by John Knox. A small e&^y in stone of 
the reformer rests upon the projecting angle of the building. 
Over the door is the following admonitory inscription ; 

" Lufe God, above al, and your nichbour as, your self." 

An admonition little heeded by the stern reformer, if 
his biography is not a fable. This old thoroughfare, was 
once the court end of the Town, and occupied by persons 
of distinction. It is now abandoned to the vilest of the 
vile ; many of the houses are dilapidated, and the street 
flutters in rags and wretchedness. 

From the lofty ramparts of the Castle of Edinburgh, 
you look down upon the most beautiful city in the world, 
surrounded by scenery that cannot be surpassed. The 
rock on which this fortress Castle is built, rises 383 feet 
above the level of the sea, and its battlements towerino' 
over the city, may be seen forty or fifty miles. The 
principal buildings now used as barracks are at the South 
East corner, and among these is an old Palace, built 
by Queen Mary in 1568. Most of the interest, 
always excepting the glorious view from its summit, 



32 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

attaches to this part of the edifice. Entering by a door- 
way in a projecting staircase, fronting a quadrangle, you 
are conducted into a small vaulted apartment containing 
the Eegalia — these objects being placed on an oval table, 
securely enclosed within a cage of upright bars. There 
with the light of eight gas burners flashing upon them, 
repose in silent majesty, the ancient Eegalia of Scotland 
— a crown — a sceptre — a sword of state, and the Order of 
the Garter given to James YI. , by Queen Elizabeth, The 
crown is very elegantly formed, the under part being a 
gold diadem, consisting of two circles, chased and adorned 
with precious stones, and pearls. This was the old crown, 
and once encircled the brows of Robert Bruce. James 
y., added two concentric arches of gold, crossing and 
intersecting each other above the circles. Upon a ball of 
gold on the summit, he placed a cross adorned with large 
diamonds. The cap or tiara of the crown is of crimson 
velvet, turned up with ermine, and adorned with pearls. 
The sceptre is a slender rod of silver, chased and varied in 
its form. The sword of state is magnificent, both in form 
and proportion. It was a present from Pope Julius the 
II., to James TV., who was slain at Flodden. Being 
wrought in Italy, shortly after the revival of art there, it 
is an exquisite specimen of skill. The handle is of silver 
gilt, and the cross or guard, wreathed in imitation of 
two dolphins, the scabbard being adorned with filagree 
work of silver, representing boughs and leaves of oak, 
interspersed with acorns. You cannot fail to look with 
deep interest, iipon those emblems, of what is now, 

" The buried majesty of Scotland." 
That crown had once pressed the fair brow of Mary — 
that sceptre had often felt the grasp of her beautiful hand. 
It was only a few years since, these regalia, were discovered 



THE CASTLE. 33 

walled up in this very room. Saved by friends of royalty 
during tlie civil war, they were afterwards deposited in a 
chest in this chamber, and on their discovery, some thirty 
years ago, Sir Walter Scott made a very interesting re- 
port of the circumstances, accompanied by a minute 
description of them. From the Regalia chamber, you 
descend to a small room below, where Mary gave birth 
to James YI., afterwards James I., of England, a most 
gloomy looking apartment, about eight feet square. You 
are at once attracted by a portrait of Mary on the wall, 
taken when in France, " in her sweet prime," just before 
her marriage with the Dauphin. The face is perfectly 
bewitching in its beauty — shaded by the richest nut 
brown hair, and lighted by a pair of the softest hazel eyes, 
that sorrow and suffering had not dimmed. A face, which 
once seen, like Mariana's, 

" Encircles all the heart, and feedeth 
All the senses, with a still delight." 

An original portrait of her son, hangs near it, a long 
thin faced man, with a brow, upon which time and sor- 
row, peem to have driven their ploughfchares deeply. 

On the Bomb Battery of the Castle, stands the national 
palladium of Scotland, '' Mons Meg.'' This gun is com- 
posed of long bars of beaten iron, hooped together by a 
series of rings, measuring twenty inches in the bore. It 
was first used in 1498, by James lY., in the siege of 
Norham Castle on the borders, and was rent in 1(382, while 
firing a salute ; since which period it has been useless. Edin- 
burgh Castle is one of the Forts, enjoined by the Treaty 
of Union, to be kept up in Scotland, 



CHAPTER n. 

Melrose Abbey — Abbotsford — Dryburgh. 

Melrose Abbey is now reached by Railway, from Edin- 
burgh, a distance of some thirty-seven miles. Melrose 
itself is a charming village, nestling in the loveliest of 
valleys. A ten minutes walk from the Railway station^ 
down a little narrow street; brings you face to face with 
the celebrated Abbey ruin, like 

" Some tall rock, with lichen gray," 
it rises before you. Aside from its situation, it is the 
loveliest pile of monastic ruins the eye can contemplate, 
or the imagination conceive of. The windows, and 
especially the glorious East window, with ail its elaborate 
tracery, are certainly unsurpassed, as specimens of gothic 
architecture. In the old cloisters are seven niches, orna- 
mented with sculptured foliage, and reminding one of 
those lines of Scott, so life-like in their description : 

" Spreading herbs, and flowerets bright, 
Glistened with the dews of night; 
No herb, nor floweret, glistened there, 
But was carved in cloistered arch as fair," 

Each glance at the glorious East window, recalls in 
like manner, the stanzas from the same poem : 

"The moon on the East oriel shone^ 
Through slender shafts of shapely stone, 
By foliaged tracery combined ; 
Thou would'st have thought some fairy's hand 
'Twixt poplars straight the ozier wand. 
In many a freakish knot, had twined ; 
Then framed a spell, when the work was done. 
And changed the willow wreaths, to stone," 



MELROSE ABBEY. 85 

Melrose Abbey was founded by David I., of Scotland, 
somewhere in the year 1136. The English on their 
retreat under Edward II., devastated it, and left hardly 
one stone upon another. Four years after this act of 
vandalism, the celebrated Robert Bruce, by a tax on the 
Baronies of the Realm, rebuilt it in a style of magnificence, 
far surpassing its former state. The present ruin which 
is a mere fragment of the perfect edifice in Bruce's time; 
clearly manifests by the rich tracery of its windows, and 
the elaborate carvings of the pilasters of its capitals, that 
it must have been among the most perfect works, of the 
best age of that description of ecclesiastical architecture to 
which it belongs. The entire edifice suffered very much 
during the Scottish reformation, from the insane zeal of 
the religious fanatics of that period; and after several 
devastations, the entire property of the Abbey passed into 
the hands of the family of Buccleuch, near the middle of 
the seventeenth century — where it has ever since remained. 
The ruins of the church alone, with remnants of the clois- 
ters, are now all that exist of the extensive buildings 
of the once magnificent Abbey. The portions remaining of 
the church, which is in the cruciform shape, are the choir, 
and transept — the west side, and fragments of the north 
and south walls of the great tower, part of the nave, nearly 
the whole of the southern aisle, and part of the north 
aisle. Within its moss grown area, broken slabs tell 
where repose many a warrior, and venerable priest. 
Under the East window a slab of marble, greenish in its 
hue, with petrified shells imbedded in it, marks the last 
resting place of Alexander II., of Scotland. Here too, 
beneath where once the high altar, glittered with its rich 
gifts, was placed »Hhe low and lonely urn'^ of the brave 



36 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

Douglass, who encountered Harry Percy in the bloody 
fight of Otterburne : That grey slab, marks the spot 
where they laid " the dark Knight of Liddesdale/' down to 
sleep among the bones of the long line of his noble ances- 
tors of the House of Douglass, so famed in Scottish song, 
and story. And they still show the spot where the grave's 
huge portal expanded before the iron bar of William of 
Deloraine, when he looked into the vault, and saw before 

him 

" The wizard lay, 
As if he had not been dead a day." 

and from which, the light of that mystic lamp beside his 

kneo; 

"Broke forth so gloriously, 
Streamed upwards to the chancel roof, 
And through the galleries far aloof! 
No earthly flame blazed e'er so bright ; 
It shone like heaven's own blessed light." 

It is while lingering in spots like these, the favorite haunts 
of Scott, and which he has made memorable by his 
genius ; that one learns to appreciate his wonderful 
powers of description. As you stand in the ruined aisles 
of Melrose, and look round; there are the corbels, '^carved 
so grotesque and grim" — the shafts of the columns look- 
ing as the poet so aptly describes them, like 

"Bundles of lances, which garlands had bound;" 

And there, the cloistered arches with the foliage upon 
their capitals, so nicely chiselled, that fairy's hand might 
well have traced them, and magic spell changed them 
when the work was done, to stone. 

But Time the great devourer has been too surely doing 
his work on this old pile — gnawing at the edges of the 
ancient fret-work, crumbling the top from some buttress 



MELROSE ABBEY. 87 

pinnacle, or stripping the leaves of stone, off some ancient 
capital. Sunlight and moonlight, alike no doubt, suit 
this graceful ruin : by day its colors are richer, but to 
visit it aright, one must no doubt go there by the pale 
moonlight — for on every ruin that I noticed, the moon's 
rays appear to have a harmonizing power; edges of masonry 
soften, harsh tints are mellowed down, arches transmit a 
silvery light, and buttresses throw a deeper shadow. 
That which in the full glare of noon, had a matter of fact 
appearance, under the wierd influence of moonlight, puts 
on the garb of romance, and becomes at the same time 
dream-like and real — a dumb ruin, y^et a speaking portent. 
Standing within the shadow of such a pile as Melrose, 
thoughts come upon you, that will not down at a bidding. 
Those skeleton windows, once through their gorgeous 
medium of glass, stained with prismatic hues, the marble 
floor of this ruined nave. These aisles, once resounded 
with the pealing anthem of white robed choirs : Here, 
was the solemn and hurley Abbot, and the dark files of 
cowled monks, and a vassal peasantry crowded at an 
awful distance from their holy superiors. On some high 
festival, how have these lofty arches shone with the glare 
of torches — and this grass grown nave exhibited its long 
perspective of brilliant and solemn colors, venerable forms, 
and awful symbols. Then came the age, (as it is now,) when 
children loitered, and clambered among the ruins, and the 
sheep fed quietly round broken images, and the defaced 
carved work of the sanctuary : And again with what an 
exultant joy, must the decay of this noble fabric, have 
been surveyed by the stern soldiery of the Covenant — while 
perhaps some highly gifted, and many scarred trooper, 
placing himself upon a mass of the ruin, ma,y have dis- 



88 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

conrsed witli his Bible in one liand^ and his dented sword 
in the other^ upon the mansions of the heavenly Jerusalem, 
which the elect were to inherit; then warming with his 
subject, amid the shattered buttresses, and roofless aisles, 
might have led the grim enthusiasts beneath him, in a 
hymn of thanksgiving and triumph, for the fall of Babylon, 
and the destruction of the high places of idolatry in the 
land. As a ruin, Melrose is now softened, made beautiful, 
and inspired with one consistent character and soul by the 
overgrowth of luxuriant ivy. The green foliage of trees, 
wave dappled shadows over the walls, and weed matted 
area within ; and Melrose Abbey, with its broken columns, 
shattered arches, and crumbled ornaments, seems to have 
become a portion of universal nature, an original member 
of the landscape, in which it stands, born of the same 
mother, and in the same generation as the ivy which 
crowns, the trees which overshadow, and the blue sky, 
and bright sun which illumine, and smile upon it. The 
gray mossy stones, now look as if they had grown up like 
the hills and woods around, by some internal energy from 
the centre, and expanded themselves amid co-operating 
elements into a pile of silent loveliness — a place for solemn 
and lonely meditation, fit for the quiet reveries of the 
idly active, or the high and varied fancies of the poet. 
Those green and stately plants, and the rich leaved 
creepers, which enwreath and robe every pointed arch, 
and slender column, and wrap the harsh grey fragments 
of walls, have taken away all the roughness and soreness 
of desolation from the pile ; and kindly nature, which 
manifests itself with so much glory in the heavens above, 
and so much sublimity in the rich landscape around, 
seems to press with her soft embrace, and hallows with 



ABBOTSFORD. 89 

the serenity of her fresh beauty, the mouldering remains 
of the Abbey of Meh-ose. 

Abbotsford, is but five miles from Melrose. The 
scenery around the Poet's retreat, is exceedingly impres- 
sive. Every mountain and streamlet, seem to tell of the 
departed bard. There, are the ^'Eildon Hills," — there, the 
Gala water, 

"Chafing, as it joins the Tweed;" 

Yonder are ^4he bonny Braes of Yarrow," and the ''Yale 
of Ettrick/' The home of the Poet, occupies a crest of the 
last of a broken series of hills, descending from Eildon to the 
Tweed, whose silvery stream it o'erhangs. The grounds 
are richly wooded, and diversified with an endless variety 
of bushy dells, and alleys green : while through all, the 
beautiful bright river wanders, giving an exquisite finish 
to the picture — needing no association whatever, only its 
own intrinsic loveliness, to leave its image indelibly im- 
pressed upon the mind. Entering the grounds through a 
Norman archway, in an embattled wall, you approach the 
mansion by a broad and trellised walk, o'ershadowed with 
roses and honeysuckles. The externals of the mansion, 
defy description. At each end rises a tall tower, the one 
totally difi"erent from the other, while the entire front is 
nothing more than an assemblage of gables, parapets, eaves, 
indentations, and water-spouts, with droll corbel heads, 
painted windows, and Elizabethan chimneys, flung toge- 
ther in the perfect wantonness of architectural irregula- 
rity. A noble porchway admits visitors to the Hall of 
Entrance, which is lighted by two large windows, each 
pane deeply dyed with glorious armorial bearings. The 



40 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

apartment is about forty feet in length, twenty in breadth, 
and the same in height. Round the cornice tbere is a 
line of coats-armorial, richly blazoned, belonging to the 
families who kept the borders — as the Douglasses, Kers, 
Scotts, Turnbulls, Maxwells, Elliotts, and Armstrongs. 
The walls are of dark, richly carved oak, from Dun- 
fermline, and the roof is formed by a series of pointed 
arches; from the centre of each of which, hang richly 
emblazoned armorial shields. The floor is paved with 
black and white marble, brought from the Hebrides. Mag- 
nificent suits of armor — a helmet and cuirass of one of 
the Imperial Guard, with a hole in the breast-plate, where 
the death-dealing bullet entered at Waterloo — a profusion 
of swords and spears of every shape and pattern, are sus- 
pended around the walls, or occupy the niches. From this 
Hall, you pass into the private study of the Poet ; a snug 
little room, with cases full of books of reference. Here, 
stands the high table, upon which so many of his charming 
works were written; while from the old fashioned ink- 
stand, towers the pen, made from an eagle's quill — the last 
be ever used. A small galler}- runs round this apartment, 
leading to the door of his bed-chamber. A side door in 
this study admits you to the library, a most magnificent 
apartment at least fifty feet in length, and thirty in height; 
with an immense bay window in the centre, from which a 
most charming view is had of the surrounding country. 
The roof is of richly carved oak, as are also the bookcases, 
which reach high up the wall. The collection of books in 
this chamber amounts to some twenty thousand ; many of 
them extremely rare and valuable. At the head of the 
Library, upon a column of choice marble, stands a bust of 
the Poet, from Chantry's chisel, a most life-like and 



ABBOTSrORD. 41 

powerful head, with a brow that looks the very throne of 
Genius. Connected with the Library is the Armory : Here 
may be seen, a variety of curious weapons — Rob Roy's 
gun, Hofer's blunderbuss, the pistols of Napoleon, cap- 
tured at Waterloo; and divers Indian spears and toma- 
hawks. From the Armory you pass into the Breakfast 
Room, the favorite chamber of Sir Walter; and well it 
might be the favorite haunt of such a lover of natural 
scenery — for, from its magnificent window, the eye is en- 
tranced by the view of that landscape, whose marvellous 
beauty enkindled the fires of his imagination. It was in 
this room the Poet died. Here was the scene, so touch- 
ingly described by Lockhart, when the Poet, like the deer, 
*'had returned to die,^^ in the place ^^ where he was 
roused.'^ 

''I was dressing,^' says Lockhart, '^when on Monday, 
early in the morning, Nicholson came into my room, and 
told me that his master had awoke in a state of composure, 
and wished to see me; I found him entirely himself, but 
in the last stage of feebleness. His eye was clear and 
calm. ^ Lockhart,' said he, ^ I may have but a minute to 
speak to you — my dear, be a good man — be virtuous, be 
religious — nothing else will give you comfort, when you 
come to lie here — God bless you all ;' with this he sank 
into a quiet sleep, and scarcely afterwards gave any sign of 
consciousness. About half-past one o'clock of the same 
day, he quietly breathed his last, in the presence of his 
children. It was a beautiful day; so warm, that ever}' 
window was wide open, and so perfectly still, that the 
sound of all others, the most delicious to his ear, the gentle 
ripple of the Tweed over its pebbles, was distinctly audible 

d2 



42 



FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 



as we knelt around the bed; and his eldest son kissed and 
closed his eyes. No sculptor ever modelled a more majes- 
tic image of repose." 

The Dining Room, adjoining the Breakfast Chamber, is 
a very handsome apartment. It contains a fine collection of 
pictures, one of which at once rivets the attention. It is a 
painting of the head of Mary, Queen of Scots, on a char- 
ger; sketched the morning of her execution, shortly after 
her beautiful head had fallen beneath the executioner's 
stroke. The head is laid upon the centre of the dish, and 
placed in an oblique position, with the ghastly neck nearest 
the spectator, so that the nose is fore shortened, and the 
nostrils front you. Such a position must have been a very 
difficult one for artistic effect. Yet with all the disadvan- 
tages, the artist has achieved wonders. In spite of the 
fore-shortening, in spite of the livid hue of death, the face 
is superlatively beautiful; and in gazing at it, one can be- 
lieve any tale of the witchery of her loveliness. The dark 
hair parted on the noble brow, rolls downward in luxuriant 
waves, as if to hide the ghastly evidences of decapitation. 
The nose, of the finest Grrecian form, descends from the 
broad brow, which bears that "width of ridge/' Lavater said, 
''was worth a kingdom.^' The eyebrows are exquisitely 
arched above the closed eyelids, from beneal-h which, you 
can almost fancy you discern the gleam of dark melancholy 
eyes. The mouth is slightly open, and though somewhat 
swollen by suffering, is of exquisite formation. The whole 
picture is terrible, yet lovely — a perfect image of death 
by violence — of beauty, unsubdued by pain. An adjoin- 
ing apartment contains portraits of the Scott family, and 
two most interesting ones of Sir Walter, when a babe, and 



DRYBURGH. 4rf 

in early boyhood. In the open, genial, and bright face of 
the boy, one may read, that 

"The child is Father of the man." 

From Abbotsford, you retrace your steps to Melrose^ 
and so on to Dryburgh, the last resting place of him, whose 
spell is on you, as you tread each spot haunted by the 
memorials of his genius. 

Dryburgh is a venerable ruin, now much defaced by the 
hand of Time. The Poet sleeps beneath a low table mon- 
ument, in St. Mary's aisle, (the most beautiful part of the 
ruin) by the side of his faithful wife : while many an added 
stone, now show, where cut off in life's prime, sleep the 
sons and daughters of his House — that House, he hoped to 
establish, so that it should transmit his name and fiime to 
generations. When one remembers how Scott hungered 
and thirsted after a title, and longed to be the founder of 
a great name, that should be handed down through a long 
line ; and then looks upon the tablets in this ruined tran- 
sept, the line of the Christian poet springs instinctively to 
his lips; 

"He builds too low, who builds beneath the skies." 

As you stand by the grave, and memory calls up in rapid 
succession, the trials and triumphs of a life so full of inte- 
rest, one can almost imagine the Muse of Scotland, her 
head crowned with Cypress, and her Harp at her feet, 
repeating the following invocation : 

Ye splendid visions of the shadowy night! 
Ye spectral forms, that float in fields of light ! 
Spirits of beauty, that in mid air dwell, 
Come to the shrine of Him, who loved you Well ; 



44 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

Shades of departed heroes, from the tomb, 

Covered with dust of ages, hither come: 

In your bright panoply, and crested might, 

Such as he called you forth to life and light. 

And ye, too, brethren of the cloistered vow! 

And ye, pale sisterhood, that loved to bow 

Your virgin beauties to the holy thrall; 

Come to this festival of death — come all! 

Ye mighty ones of earth, uncrown your brows, 

A mightier head lies here, and sweeter vows 

Than ever king received, embalm this spot, 

Where sleeps lh«^ Wizard of the North, immortal Scott. 

Come! sportive lovers of the moonlight hour, 

Ye fairies, that obedient to his power, 

Played off your merry pranks in hall and bower." 

# ^ ^ ^ # 

But chief of all, come Nature's holy wells, 
Yielding your silver tribute, freshest bells 
Plucked from the blooming heather, echoes fair, 
Chaunting his golden lays, till earth and air, 
Are full of melody. Come all I — come all! 
Ye nations too, come at the solemn call ! 
And first his own dear land, bring offerings meet. 
Such as his spirit loved, bright flowers and sweet, 
For he has sung your beauties; he has thrown 
A magic round them, greater than their own ; 
'Till not a mountain, reared its head unsung. 
Coma then) awake the harp, and let earth ring. 
With one deep dirge of woe, from voice and string. 



CHAPTER III. 

IN LONDON. 

A View ot the City, from Waterloo Bridge — Excursion on the 
Thames — St. Mary's Overies — The Tabard Inn — Temple 
Church. 

The great Babylon, is seen to advantage, from many 
of the noble bridges spanning the Thames. Among 
them may be mentioned Blackfriars; observed from which 
St. Paul's has by far the most imposing effect, while some 
of the more ancient parts of the City lie in close proxi- 
mity. But by far the finest point of observation, is from 
"Waterloo Bridge, from which the view on a clear, bright 
morning, is certainly very fine. Beneath you, in Words- 
worth's charming words, 

"The river wanders at its own sweet will." 

The thickly clustered houses on every side, proclaim the 
vast population of the City ; and the numerous towers and 
steeples, more than fifty of which, together with five 
bridges, are visible from this spot, testify to its architectu- 
ral wealth. The features of the south shore, on the rig-ht 
hand are comparatively flat and uninteresting, there being 
on this side of the river, few other buildings besides tim- 
ber wharfs^ tall chimneys, and erections belonging to the 
worst part of London. The ancient Church of St. Mary 
OverieSj with its four pointed spires, and square tower, is 



46 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

the only object of interest. There the good old Poet Gower, 
Chaucer's honored master, sleeps awaiting the resurrection 
morn. There too, reposes Cardinal Beaufort, that wealthy 
and ambitious prelate, whose death-bed has been painted 
by Shakspeare in such awful colors : 

"Lord Cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bhss, 
Hold up thy hand! make signal of thy hope: 
He dies — and makes no sign." 

Beneath its venerable roof assembled the Papist com- 
mission to try heretics — and on its sacred floor, Smithfield's 
noblest martyr, Eodgers, received sentence of death, by fire. 
Within its hallowed cemetery, close by its ancient wall^ 
sleeps Beaumont's ^Hwin worthy/' Fletcher, while in close 
communion with such honored dust lies Massinger. 

On the north shore of the river^ the features of the 
view are impressive in the extreme. In the foreground, 
with its noble terrace overlooking the water, Somerset 
House stretches magnificently along the river. Farther on, 
^'Temple Grardens," with their trees and verdure down to 
the water's edge, contrast refreshingly with the masses of 
brick and stone arou.nd. Glancing over the graceful stee- 
ple of St. Bride's Church, St. Paul's towers above every 
object, as it were with paternal dignity; its huge cupola 
forming the most imposing feature in the scene. Behind 
these, among a cluster of spires and towers, rises the tall 
shaft of that Monument which '^lifted its head to lie," 
when it ascribed the great fire of London to the Papists. 
And there, close along the water's edge, in gloomy mag- 
nificence, you may behold the pointed towers of the once 
great State Prison of England, so pregnant with associa- 
tions of the romantic and fearful; while the extreme dis- 
tance presents a bristling forest of masts, belonging to 



LONDON. 47 

every nation. Turning westward and looking up the river, 
several objects of interest meet the eye. The Lambeth 
shore is marked by little, except a lion-surmounted brew- 
ery, which somewhat relieves its monotony. The sombre 
dome of Bethlehem Hospital, is seen behind, fraught with 
the most gloomy associations, while Lambeth Palace rears 
its towers in the distance, interesting as the scene of so 
many Church Councils, and within whose walls, WycklifFe 
the first Reformer, read his startling doctrines, after he bad 
been previously cited at St. Paul's. On the opposite side 
is the interesting locality of the Savoy, reminding us of 
good old Geofi'rey Chaucer; for here he resided so long, 
under the protection of the Duke of Gaunt, and his amia- 
ble Blanche. Here he composed some of the sweetest of 
his poems. 

Still farther on, stands Hungerford Market, while behind 
rise the Column of Nelson and the towers of Westminster, 
the great national Walhalla, And there too, stretching 
their vast length along the waterside, with a dignity and 
grandeur befitting their high vocation, are the new Houses 
of Parliament. 

As the busy eye glances around from spot to spot, and 
from spire to spire, how the recollections of the past crowd • 
upon the mind. The Tower, which forms so prominent 
a feature in the distance, how much of history and ro- 
mance does it suggest. Kings, Queens, Statesmen, form 
the almost unbroken line of its captives for five or 
six centuries. There is hardly a single great event in 
English history, where this gloomy edifice does not loom 
forth in terrible distinctness — and scarce an ancient family 
in England, to which it has not bequeathed some fearful 
and ghastly memories. 



48 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

How many associations are awakened at the sight of 
Temple Gardens I There, in former times, proudly lived 
in splendor, the Knights Templar j and the admirers of 
^^the Essays of Elia,^^ will not forget, that close by was 
the residence of good Charles Lamb. Farther on, and 
near the water side stands the little Chapel, where Milton 
was baptized ; and nearly opposite, on the other side of the 
river, is the site of the celebrated '^ Globe Theatre,'^ so 
intimately connected with the lives and early fortunes of 
•Shakspeare, and ^' rare Ben Johnson.'^ 

The sight of the venerable Towers of Westminster, evoke 
feelings of deep interest. Who can stand within the 
shadow of its ancient pile, without being o'erwhelmed by 
the solemnity of its associations ? How are you impressed 
with solemn and religious veneration, at the thought of 
ihe uses to which it has been applied ; the great events of 
which it has been the witness? Here are crowned the 
monarchs of England ; and here all their pomp and vanity 
fled away, they moulder like their subjects. Amid such 
an assemblage of arehitectural grandeur, as the Abbey 
presents, the mind is filled with a rich confusion of im- 
agery, as if incapable of grappling with the whole. To 
use the words of quaint Thomas Miller, " it seems like 
the sunlight, that flames through the deep dyed win- 
dows — you stand amid the dazzle of blaze and brightness, 
that appears to have neither beginning or end, Here flash- 
ing like gold ; there stealing into the dim purple 
twilight, and gilding as it passes a shrine, or a stony 
fihroud, then settling down amid the vaulted shadows 
of the tomb; or just lighting faintly in its passage upon 
the uplifted hands of the recumbent image that have been 
clasped for centuries, in the attitude of silent prayer. And 



THE THAMES. 49 

there too is the Poet's Corner, a spot haunted by sad and 
sweet associations. In it stands the massy and solema 
looking tomb of Chaucer, that morning star of English 
poetry. He, the earliest child of English song, was the 
first bard interred within this great national mausoleum. 
The monument was erected shortly after his death, and 
there is a look about it, which would seem to indicate an 
antiquity almost as great as that of the Abbey itself'^ 

Gentle Spencer is the next heir to undying fame, in- 
terred within this great national Walhalla; and Shaks- 
peare and ^^rare Ben Johnson" bedewed the flag stones 
around that tomb with tears, as they stood mourners 
about his bier. Beaumont and Drayton were the next 
who sank into this city of the illustrious dead. The last 
great poet the vault opened to receive, was Campbell, 
whose head almost touches the feet of Chaucer. 

But leaving the Bridge, where such an interesting view 
unfolds, and such pleasant memories are awakened, let us 
direct our steps toward Hungerford Stairs, for a short 
excursion on the Thames, to pay our tribute to the last 
resting place of Cower, who sleeps beneath the stone pave- 
ment of St. Saviour's. The barges moored side by side, 
here at the stairs, have little safety, and still less conve- 
nience : but a glance around us, when we have reached 
them, affords abundant amusement. A small knot of 
people in one corner, have been momentarily increasing, 
evidently waiting for a special boat. A portly matron 
with a collection of well-stored baskets — a group of city 
reared children, cared for by a very small Cinderella-like 
serving maid — a thin nervous gentleman, and ourselves, 
make up the party, that set foot upon the dark, dingy 
little steamer, bound for difi"erent points along the river. 



50 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

We start off with great rapidity. Let us note as rapidly 
as we are going, each point of interest as we pass. Look I 
but a stone's throw from the pier, is a Water Gate^ 
now out of use, and when the tide is low, beyond the 
reach of the stream — banks of mud surround it, on which 
here and there are thick, dank beds of reedy grass. That 
Water Grate is clearly a by -gone, having outlived its origi- 
nal purpose. It is the only remnant of a once princely 
mansion, and in its day, was vaunted as the most perfect 
specimen of architecture, fashioned by the hand of the 
celebrated Inigo Jones. It was the river gate of the 
Palace of the Duke of Buckingham. The rustic basement, 
and graceful columns, still attest the taste and skill of 
the architect : but cankered lock and rusty hinges, tell 
that its day of usefulness is gone, with the old palatial 
mansion, to which it was an appendage. Its aspect of 
neglect, if not of ruin, revives the memory of by-gone 
times and manners, throwing the mind back to the days 
when the bank of the river was lined with the mansions 
of the nobility; when the Strand from Temple Bar to 
Westminster, was an open road, and the Thames the 
King's Highway between the Temple and Westminster 
Palace ; when each house fronting the stream boasted of 
its ^' Water Grate,^' and gilded barges floated on the tide^ 
upon " the silent highway,'^ while liveried menials waited 
their Lords' pleasure at the stairs. 

There are some exceedingly interesting associations 
connected with this portion of the Thames. York House 
which once fronted the Biver, almost at the very point 
from which we started, offers its share of stirring memo- 
ries. The first breath of Francis Bacon was drawn within 
its walls; and through its terraced walks he disported in 



THE THAMES. 51 

cliildhood. In York House lie passed Ms boyhood's tappy 
dayS; and ere the sorrows of manhood had shaded his 
brow, he left it to engage in a vain strife for intellectual 
supremacy and empty worldly renown. Both were ac- 
quired and built up by the splendor of his achievements, 
and he returned to sacrifice to false ambition, all his 
vaunted nobleness of purpose, after forty years of struggle 
against poverty, rivalry, envy j and last^ though not least, 
the baseness of his own moral nature. After nearly half 
a century spent in enduring duns and arrests for debt, 
suffering insult from Coke, his rival in the law, and in 
love — libelled by rumor, and frowned upon by his sove- 
reign, he came back to this home of his boyhood. When 
he again left it, guards were around him, and he departed 
thence to the Tower. His domestics rose as he passed 
down stairs. ^'Sit down, my masters,'^ he exclaimed, 
^^your rise has been my fall.^' How bitterly must his 
wrung soul, at that moment have felt the degradation. 

Next adown the stream, stood Durham House, the lux- 
urious abode of Dudley of Northumberland, a spot most 
closely linked with the touching story of Lady Jane Grey. 
Here she lived — here she married, and from it she was 
tempted to take barge to the Tower, there to assume a 
crown, she was destined so short a time to wear. From 
Durham House, accompanied by her young and handsome 
husband, surrounded by all the pomp and circumstance of 
new born royalty, " did she take water in a gilded barge," 
decked with banners, and moving to the strains of merry 
music. Where Durham House stood, and where an eight 
month's drama of real life was played, terminated by the axe 
of the executioner, we now see the Adelphi, a noble pile 
raised upon foundations of immense depth and thickness. 



52 rOEEiGN ETCHINGS. 

And soon we are approaching "Waterloo Bridge, the finest 
in its proportions of any bridge in Europe. Where those 
coal-barges, and coal-heavers ply their dingy trade, the an- 
cient palace of the Savoy once stood, rearing its dark towers 
in all the pride of feudal magnificence. There the unfor- 
tunate John of France, taken prisoner at Poictiers by the 
Black Prince, was held in gentle, but safe durance. About 
the same period, John of Gaunt, " time honored Lancas- 
ter," made the Palace of the Savoy a residence, numbering 
the poet Chaucer in his retinue. 

Clearing Westminster Bridge^ Somerset House displays 
its imposing facade to the passenger on the river. Founded 
by the Protector Somerset, its princely magnificence aided 
the outcry against him ; and before he had completed the 
Palace, he died upon the block at Tower Hill. Elizabeth, 
and Catharine the Queen of the merry monarch, succes- 
sively occupied this Palace. It was in the old palace that 
stood upon the very site now covered by the modern struc- 
ture, the remains of Oliver Cromwell laid in state — and 
from it, he was buried with great pomp and pageantry. 

Quickly we pass the opening of Strand Lane — a dirty 
court of no repute — and are soon opposite to the site of 
the Palace, where once lived the handsome and brave, but 
headstrong Essex. Here audience was sought of him by 
nobles, princes^ and. ambassadors, when the sunlight of 
Elizabeth's favor was turned full upon him. Here the 
gallant and indiscreet court favorite wore the love tokens 
of his royal mistress; and from it he madly issued with an 
armed force to attack the city. That wild enterprize 
changed his abode from Essex House to the Tower — end- 
ing in Essex with a headless trunk upon Tower Hill ; for 
his enamored Queen, in a broken heart. In Devereux 



THE TEMPLE. 53 

Court, fixed liigli in the wall of a Tavern, may yet be 
observed a bust of tbe Eavl in stone; the only token be- 
yond the name of court and street, of Essex House. 

Next we may note the Temple Gardens and Temple 
Church, with the memories of the martial gatherings of 
Europe's early chivalry, to bear the banner of the Cross 
to shelter beneath its folds the Holy Sepulchre. Its cir- 
cular Church, built in imitation of the fone, which in. 
Jerusalem covered the tomb of Christ, was consecrated 
more than six centuries ago. Upon the floor still rest the 
sepulchral effigies of the Knights Templar, whose bones 
are mouldering beneath. Temple Gardens is now an oasis 
in the desert of coal barges, and dingy looking wherries; 
a spot still pleasant and cheerful, as a promenade. It was 
here Shakspeare located the scene, when those rose- 
emblems were plucked by the rival houses of York and 
Lancaster, afterwards developing in that civil strife, which 
deluged English soil with English blood. In later days 
these gardens were places of resort and solace to Johnson, 
Cowper^ Goldsmith and Lamb — the gentle Elia says, "I 
was born and passed the first seven years of my life near, 
and in the Temple Gardens. Its church, its halls, its 
gardens^ and fountains are of my oldest recollections. I 
repeat to this day no verses to myself with greater emotion 
than those of Spencer, where he speaks of this spot.'' 

Passing the Temple with its associations, we bestow a 
hurried glance upon some sooty-looking buildings, with 
circular iron receivers. These form part of the numerous 
Gas works^ which make London the best lighted city in 
the world. They stand upon the very spot, once occupied 
by the ancient sanctuary of the White Friars, peopled by- 
Sir Walter Scott so graphically in his Fortunes of Nigel. 
e2 



54 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

There bis hero, like oilier fugitives from tlie pursuit of 
bailiffs; obtained protection upon taking tlie rhyming oatb, 

" By spigot and barrel, 

By bilbo, and buff, 

Thou art sworn to the quarrel 

For the blades of the huff. 

For White Friars, and its claims. 

To be champion, or martyr, 

And to fight for its dames 

Like a knight of the Garter." 

Slash bucklers and bullies, have now given place to coal- 
heavers, gas-men, and glass-blowers. 

Soon we are under the shadow of Blackfriars' Bridge. 
Clearing this, St. Paul's becomes the most prominent 
object. The huge dome of the Metropolitan Cathedral is 
crowded round about by the spires and pinnacles of thirty 
other Churches, many of them the products of the same 
genius that reared this rival of St. Peter's. 

Soon we are approaching London Bridge; and here we 
have in all its perfection, the scene and stir of busy com- 
merce — crowded wharfs with huge cranes still drawing 
richer cargoes into their deep recesses, and barges floating 
by laden almost to sinking with country produce. Close to 
this is the central spot, where 

" Lofty Trade 
Gives audience to the world ; the Strand around 
Close swarms with busy crowds of many a realm; 
What bales! what wealth! what industry ! what fleets!" 

Now we shoot under the magnificent Bridge of South- 
wark, the first structure of iron, in the shape of a bridge, 
ever built. How light and yet how strong, its noble arches 
look ! Almost in a line with the present roadway to this 
bridge, on the Surry side, stood the Globe Theatre, the 



ST. MARY OVERIES. 55 

»cene of Sbakspeare's first acquaintance witli the sock and 
buskin — tile place where he is said to haTe carried a wick 
to light the actors on the stage — that stage, lie was after- 
wards to purify, enlighten and illumine, by the brighter 
rays of his genius. 

Leaving Southwark's iron bridge behind us, the turreted 
steeple of St. Mary Overies, or, the modern St. Saviour's, 
towers up beyond. Our little boat is soon alongside the 
floating barge built pier, where a dense crowd of passengers, 
hustle each other, in trying to get first on board. Elbow- 
ing our way up the steep ascent, we are soon standing in 
front of the modernized Church of St. Saviour's. In the 
olden time, long before the Conquest, a House of Sisters 
was founded here, by a maiden of the name of Mary, the 
daughter of the old ferryman; and then called by the 
name of St. Mary Overies, or St. Mary, over the ferry. 
Towards the close of the fourteenth century, the old fabric 
was restored through the munificence of the Poet Gower, 
Chaucer's master, and but recently has been again restored 
and modernized. The plan of this Church is a simple 
one, being in the cruciform shape. An old Church is 
always a solemn place — the silence, the repose, almost un- 
earthly, which broods there, dispose the mind to serious 
meditation, and in the presence of the many memorials of 
tbe dead scattered around, no one can forget his mortality. 
In the south transept may be found the monument to old 
Gower. The Poet, ''left his soul to God, and his body 
to be buried in the Church of the Canons of the blessed 
Mary de Overies, in a place expressly provided for it." 
Upon it you may read " Here lyes John Gower, a benefac- 
tor to this sacred edifice in the time of Edward III. and 
Richard II.'' An efiigy of the Poet lies in a recess; on 
the purple and gold band, adorned with fillets of roses 



56 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

encircling the head of the effigy, are the words ^^ Merci 
Ihu," or Mercy Jesus. Three gilded volumes^ labelled 
with the names of his principal works, support the head. 
On the wall at his feet, are his arms, and a hat with a red 
hood, bordered with ermine, and surmounted by his crest, 
a dog's head. Near this monument, on a pillar at the side, 
may be seen a cardinal's hat, with certain arms beneath. 
To that slight memorial is attached a long train of recol- 
lections, many of them highly interesting. The arms are 
of the Beaufort family : the hat is that of Cardinal Beau- 
fort, whose death-bed Shakspeare has painted with such 
power. Immediately opposite Grower's monument, we have 
another, with a life-like bust of John Bingham, saddler to 
Queen Elizabeth, and King James. The complexion and 
features, the white ruff, dark jerkin, and red waistcoat of 
this saddler to royalty, are in most excellent preservation. 
Crossing to the north transept, may be seen the monument 
to Dr. Lockyer, a famous empiric during the reign of 
Charles 11. His effigy represents a very respectable look- 
ing personage, attired in a thick curled wig, and furred 
gown, pensively reclining upon some pillows, and looking 
as if he half-doubted the truth of his own epitaph : 

His virtues, and his pills are so well known^ 
That envy can't confine them under stone.'* 

In the beautiful Lady Chapel, with its slender, tree- 
like pillars, sending off their branches along the roof, 
until they form a perfect continuity of shade, sleeps the 
good Bishop Andrews, awaiting in sure and steadfast hope, 
a glorious awakening. Upon the tomb of one of the an- 
cient Aldermen of London, whose whole family are 
grouped in effigies there> not forgetting his two wives, 



TABARD INN. 57 

may be noticed the following beautiful inscription^ wbicli 
is a slightly varied extract from Quarle's poem. 

Like to the damask rose you see, 
Or like the blossom on the tree, 
Or like the dainty flower of May, 
Or like the morning of the day, 
Or like the sun, or like the shade. 
Or like the gourd which Jonas had, 
Even so is man, whose thread is spun, 
Drawn out, and cut, and so is done. 

The rose withers, the blossom blasteth, 
The flower fades, the morning hasteth j 
The sun sets, the shadow flies, 
The gourd consumes, and man, he dies. 

Upon the floor of this old Church, assembled the Coun- 
cil, that sent Rodgers to the stake. He was the first victim ; 
but for three long years, the spirit of persecution kept the 
fires alive. Plain John Bradford, here received his sen- 
tence; and shortly after leaving the precincts, wrote that 
touching letter to Cranmer, Ridley, and Latimer, when he 
said — " This day I think, or to-morrow at the uttermost, 
hearty Hooper, sincere Saunders, and trusty Taylor end 
their course, and receive their crown : the next am I, 
which hourly look for the porter to open me the gates 
after them, to enter the desired rest." Massinger is 
buried here ; but not as we supposed in a gloomy corner, 
amid a mass of mis-shapen and mutilated graves; but 
within the sanctified area of the Church. 

Leaving St. Saviour's, I instinctively turned toward that ^J 
spot, to which every lover of poetry is glad to direct his 
steps — the old Tabard Inn — the scene of the feasting of 
Chaucer's Pilgrims : those Pilgrims, who, to use the lan- 
guage of Shaw^ " have traversed four hundred and fifty 



58 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

years- — like the Israelites wandering in the wilderness--* 
amid arid periods of neglect and ignorance, sandy flats of 
formal mannerism^ unfertilized by any spring of beauty^ 
and yet their garments have not decayed^ nor their slioes 
waxed old/^ I soon found it, standing nearly opposite 
the modern Town Hall of Sonthwark. The exterior pre- 
sents simply a square dilapidated gate way, its posts 
strapped with rusty iron bands, and its gates half covered 
with sheets of the same metal. As I entered, the land- 
lord greeted me, and I thought of those lines of Chancer, 
"A seemly man, ye hoste is withal." 
(^ Merry doings were there in the old inn yard, five hun- 
dred years ago, when Harry Baily, ^Hhe hoste" was 

"the early eock 
That gathered them together in a flock." 

The Inn is now known, as ^^The Talbot,^^ evidently a 
corruption from "Tabard.^^ 

There is something extremely venerable in the old wea- 
ftier-beaten, and iron-bound posts, which prop up its com- 
paratively modern gateway. They tell of the grazing and 
grindinfr of thousands of old wheels, while the stones are 
worn away by the trampings of many a steed. I was soon 
in "the Pilgrim's Room." With due reverence, Hooked 
upon its venerable walls, its square chimney pieces, and 
its quaint old panels, reaching to the ceiling. It is now 
cut up into small rooms ; but upon looking closely at the 
chambers at either end, it was very clear to be seen, that 
they had all once formed one chamber. The whole ap- 
pearance of the building is curious, and quaint beyond 
^description. "The AYife of Bath,"— "The Knight and 
his Son," — "The G-entle Parish Priest,^^ — the conceited 
" Fryar," with all that Pilgrim train, came thronging in — 



TABARD INN. 50 

and as I stood upon the ancient balcony, and looked down 
into tbe old court-yard, the scene so graphically described 
by Chaucer, was before me. Returning, I stopped in at 
the tap room, and drained to the memory of old Geoffrey 
a mug of 

"Nappy strong ale of South w ark." 

Wfhat a forlorn looking district, is this of Southwark. 
Many of the houses, besides being old, are large and lofty. 
Many of the courts stand just as they did, when Cromwell 
sent out his spies, to hunt up and slay the Cavaliers; and 
just as when they again were hunted here by the Cavaliers, 
after the Restoration. There is a smell of past ages about 
these ancient courts, like that which arises from decay, a 
murky closeness, as if the old winds which whistled 
through them, in the times of the civil wars, had become 
stagnant, and all the old things had fallen and decayed, 
as they were blown together. The timber of the houses 
looks bleached and worm-eaten, and the very brick-work, 
seems never to have been new. In these old struc- 
tures you find wide, hollow-sounding, decayed staircases, 
that lead into great ruinous rooms^ whose echoes are only 
awakened by the shrieking and scampering of large black- 
eyed rats, who eat through the solid floors, through the 
wainscot, and live and die without being startled by a hu- 
man voice. Leaving this desolate district, I was soon 
standing on London Bridge. What a crowd are coming 
and going over this vast thoroughfare ! There hardly ap- 
pears standing room ; and yet each one of the vast throng, 
seems to have space enough. Just below the dark capped 
turrets of the Tower loom forth with all their ghastly 
memories. 

Once on the other side, I passed rapidly by Fishmonger's 



60 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

Hall, the site of the old Boar's Head Tavern, and turning 
by Craven into Ludgate Street, reached my destination, 
the Temple Church, which stands a little back from Fleet 
Street, near where Temple Bar spans the way with its 
,, gloomy looking arch. Temple Church now belongs to the 
Law Societies of the Inner and Middle Temple. The his- 
tory is a curious one, by whieh the Lawyers succeeded to 
the inheritance of that powerful fraternity, the Knights 
Templars, whose guiding principle enforced by the solem- 
nities of an oath, was, ^^ never to permit a christian 
to be unlawfully and unjustly despoiled of his heritage." 
The Temple Church, or at least that part called '^ The 
Bound,'' was built originally by the Knights Templar of 
Jerusalem, an order, who pitying the sufferings of Christian 
pilgrims to the Holy City, entered into a solemn compact 
iiO devote their lives and fortunes, to the defence of the 
highway leading to Jerusalem, from the inroads of Mus- 
selmon, and th^e ravages of the powerful robbers, who in- 
fested it. Their rise was rapid ; but not more so than the 
growth of their ambition. From guarding the highway, 
they took to guarding the Holy City itself: and in pro- 
cess of time, influential men joined the order, and threw 
into its coffers their entire fortunes. It grew in power, 
influence, and wealth, and in the palmiest days of its 
strength, numbered some of the most influential names in 
England as members. The Master of the Temple, took 
his place amongst the Peers in Parliament. The dress of 
the Templar, corresponded with that of the Bed Cross 
Knight, in "the Fairy Queen" of Spencer. 

" And on his Iweast a bloudie cross he bore 

The deare remembrance of his dying Lord, 

For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he wore, 

And dead as living, ever him adored." 



THE TEMPLE. 61 

About the reign of Edward III. the estates belonging 
to the TemplarS; came into the hands of the Knight Hos- 
pitallers of St. John of Jerusalem • and by them were 
demised to certain students of the Common Law. From 
that time, the body of Lawyers increased in influence and 
importance. Soon they became so powerful, that it was 
found necessary to divide the Inn into two separate frater- 
nities, to be called the Honorable Society of the Inner, 
and the Honorable Society of the Middle Temple; both 
having separate Halls, but worshipping in one Church. 
These honorable societies appeared to have suffered con- 
siderably during the rebellion under Wat Tyler. Jack 
Cade had no great respect for the gentlemen of the Law. 
He could not understand, *'how the skin of an innocent 
lamb, should be made parchment, and that parchment 
being scribbled on, should undo a man." Jack had heard 
some people say, "that the bee stings;" but sensible fel- 
low, he had reason to know "it was the bee's wax," ^' for 
he did but put a seal once to a thing, and was never his 
own man after." Believing, as honest Jack did, how 
could he help putting his blazing torch, amid the parch- 
ment treasures of the Inns of Court. But the Order soon 
recovered from the devastating effects of the fire, and 
waxed more potent than ever ; and about the first year of 
James I. we find the whole of this property was granted 
by letters patent, to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, 
the Recorder of London, and others, the Benchers and 
Treasurers of the Inner and Middle Temple, to have and 
to hold to them and their assigns forever. Thus secured 
by royal grant, it has remained in their possession to 
this day. The place where now 

*' The studious lawyers have their bowers," 



62 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

for Temple Gardens still display their verdure on the 
river side; is certainly not what the gentle Elia declares 
it to be in his time, ^' the most elegant spot in the metro- 
polis/' The approach to it, from Fleet Street, is now 
forlorn enough, and in the smoky atmosphere of Lon- 
don, everything outside has a dingy, dismal appearance. 
Who can ever forget the gloom and ''the ancient smell,^' 
there is about the old Brick Court. But the memories of 
the great and good, cluster around its venerable precincts. 
Gower, Chaucer and Spencer, all lived here. Oliver 
Goldsmith, poor Noll ! resided here, and in that dingy 
room on the first floor of House No. 2, they show you the 
very spot in which he died. 

The Inns of Court are remarkable for the elegance, 
and beauty of their interiors. The old times, when these 
Halls were the scenes of good cheer, and sumptuous en- 
tertainment : when majesty, and those who reflected its 
splendors, honored these precincts with their right royal 
presence; have indeed passed away. But though 'Hhe 
ferial days and glorious merry-makings," of the lawyers of 
Evelyn's time have gone, and old Benchers no longer 
lead the dance with measured step, following their "Master 
of the Bevels:" nor young limbs of the law, ''make the 
welkin dance indeed, and rouse the night owl in a catch 
that would draw three souls from out one weaver;" still 
the honorable profession keep alive the spirit and sociality 
of their order in these old Halls. In the Halls of the 
Inner and Middle Temple, dinner is prepared for the mem- 
bers every day, during Term time. The Masters of the 
Bench, dining on the elevated platform, at the farther 
end of the Halls, while the barristers, and students line 
the long tableS; extending down the sides of the room. 



THE TEMPLE. 63 

Students keep twenty terms, — that is five years at these 
Inns, — before they are entitled to be called to the Bar. 
Graduates of either University, however, are privileged in 
an earlier call. On ^' Grand Days,'^ the Halls are graced, 
not only by the attendance of a large number of members, 
and occasionally by the presence of the Judges, who dine 
in succession with each of the four Inns, extending their 
visits then both to Gray's and Lincoln's. The Hall of 
the Inner Temple, is I believe, the largest, as it most 
certainly is the most magnificent in its interior decora- 
tions. The fine windows are adorned with the arms 
of the distinguished members of the Inn ; and there amid 
the blaze of heraldric devices in stained glass, you may 
read the names, so world-wide in their fame, of Cowper, 
Thurlow, Dunning, Eldon, Blackstone, Stowell, Hard- 
wicke, and Somers. Nothing can exceed the rich and 
glowing effect of the emblazonry on these windows, the 
elaborateness of the rich carving of the wood-work on the 
walls, or the fine effect produced by the portraits — some of 
them veritable Vandykes, that look down upon you from 
the venerable walls. The strong oaken tables that extend 
from end to end of the Hall — are the same at which 
those noble spirits of the sixteenth century dined ; and all 
the venerated forms of Benchers, that Lamb styles ^Uhe 
mythology of the Temple. '^ 

The Temple Church, '^ where hamsters resort," has 
been lately restored in a style of magnificence and cor- 
respondency worthy of its best days, when it was adorned 
with more than oriental splendor. The only ancient part 
of the Church is now the Round, into which you first enter 
by a deeply recessed, and sumptuously enriched Norman 
gateway. In the restorations under the auspices of the 



64 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

two Societies^ everything has been restored, as near as 
could be ascertained, to its original beauty. The clus- 
tered columns, supporting the roof of the nave, present a 
fine appearance. These are the original pillars, once 
used in the old Church, of polished marble, variegated 
and beautiful. In the ancient part of the Church is 
presented the most interesting example in England, of 
the transition of the plain massive Norman, to the light 
and elegant early English style. In the Round, one may 
notice the semicircular windows of the Norman period; 
but Norman in the last stage of a change to something 
else, already grown slender and elongated. There too we 
have the pointed windows — the very perfection of what is 
called the lancet style. The stained window over the altar, 
appears like one of the richest works of the olden time, 
although it is very modern, while the richly gilded roof is 
scarce less splendid than it was, when the clang of knightly 
heel rang upon the stone pavement below. The stained 
window first mentioned, with its deep rubies, rich purple, 
and gold, represents Christ enthroned. The pavement of 
the Church remodeled in strict correspondency, with the 
the ancient one, is yellow and amber upon a deep ground 
of red. There is a great grouping of heraldric and 
pictorial subjects, such as animals with their tails linked 
together; cocks and foxes, and figures playing upon 
musical instruments. But the chief ornaments are the 
symbols of the two societies of the Temple; the Lamb, 
and the Pegasus, or winged horse, founded on the celerity 
of Heraclius. The Lamb being the device of St. John, 
belonged to the Hospitallers of St. John, who succeeded 
the Templars. One of the members of the Inns, in glori- 
fying this symbolic emblem, now adopted by the Order, 
wrote the following eulogistic verses : 



THE TEMPLE. 65 

" As by the Templars hold you go, 

The Horse and Lamb displayed, 
In emblematic figures show, 

The merits of their trade. 

That clients may infer from thence, 

How just is their profession, 
The Lamb sets forth their innocence, 

The Horse their expedition. 
O happy Britons! happy isle! 

Let foreign nations say; 
When you getjustwe without guile, 

And law without delay" 
To this, some wag made the following reply : 
" Deluded men ! these holds forego 

Nor trust such cunning elves, 
These artful emblems tend to show 

Their clie?its, not themselves! 

'Tis all a trick; these all are shams 

By which they mean to cheat you ; 
So have a care; for you're the Lambs, 

And they the Wolves that eat you. 
Nor let the thoughts of no delay, 

To these, their courts misguide you ; 
For you're the ahotvy horse, and they, 

The JQckies that will ride you." 

Among the greatest objects of interest in this Church, 
are the recumbent figures of the cross-legged Crusaders on 
the floor. They are nine in number, and lie four on each side 
of the central walk, in a double line. These are an- 
cient monuments of Knights Templars. Selden and Plow- 
den are buried in the vaults of this Church, and the gentle 
author of the ^' Ecclesiastical Polity,^' has very appropri- 
ately a monument, commemorative of his many virtues, 
and rare abilities. Beneath a worn and moss-covered slab 
of gray stone, just outside the walls of the Church, are 
supposed to rest the remains of Littleton. And with this 

old Church, ended a day's wandering in London. 
f2 



CHAPTER ly. 

A FEW OF THE 

CELEBI^ITIES OF LOitTIDOISr. 

The Parks — The Mansion House — The Exchange— The Bank of 

England. 

How appropriately did Wyndliam style the Parks, ^'ihe 
lungs of London/' Great breathing places, indeed they 
are, with their shaded walks, running streams, and ver- 
dant sod all open to the sky. Here leaves are waving, 
waters rippling, and flowers blowing, as if the huge city, 
with its million of murmuring voices, had been removed 
miles away. These Parks are where that great Leviathan, 
the London populace, comes up to breathe, darting back 
again into the deep waters of the crowded stream; then 
rising here each day to catch a breath of the pure and 
vital air of heaven. 

Nothing is more surprising to an American, accustomed 
to the narrow and contracted squares of his own cities, 
than these great spaces open to the sky in such a metro- 
polis as London. Some idea may be formed of the extent 
of these Parks, when it is known that they embrace a 
space of more than fourteen hundred acres, taken out as it 
were of the very heart of the city. To the early taste of 
English Sovereigns for the chase, London is unquestiona- 
bly indebted for her Parks : so that what in one age 
savored of oppression and encroachment upon the liberty 
of the subject, has in another, been the means of produc- 
ing the greatest amount of public good; and added mate- 



THE PARKS. 67 

rially to the sura total of public happiness. Thus true it 
is, there is a soul of goodness in things ill, when time, and 
advanced civilization furnish the alembic, to distil it out. 

St. James's. Green, and Hyde Park, with Kensington 
Garden's, stretch in an unbroken line, from White Hall 
to Kensington Palace ; so that one may really walk from 
Downing Street to Bayswater, a distance of three miles, 
without taking his feet off the sod. These three Parks 
enclose London on its west side : Regent's and Bat- 
tersea Parks lying to the north and southwest. Besides 
these immense open spaces, which are beautifully laid out; 
the ventilation of this great city is cared for in numerous 
Si][uares, some of them of large extent, planted with trees, 
and embracing in the whole, several hundred acres. 

St. James's Park is shaped not unlike a boy's kite, en- 
closing some eighty-three acres. And who that has ever 
pored over the quaint and gossipping diary of Evelyn, or 
read the stately lines of the courtly Waller, but feels at 
home within its charming precincts ? Evelyn in his Sylva, 
talks about ''the branchy walks of elms in St. James's, 
intermingling their reverend tresses." The branchy walks 
are still here ; and the long avenue of elms, (whether 
of Evelyn's time we know not,) with interlacing 
branches, yet cover the sod with their dark shade. It was 
in this park occurred that touching incident related of 
Charles I. on his way to the scaffold at Whitehall ; when 
the poor King pointed with tears in his eyes to the oak, 
which had been planted by the hands of his brother 
Henry, and said, " his fate was happier than mine, for he 
died young. '^ And here too, along this very walk, in gloomy 
mood with Whitlock, strode that bold bad man, Cromwell, 
asking with significant look, '' what if a man should 



68 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

take upon himself to be king?'^ and receiving that chilling 
response — ^' the remedy would be worse than the disease." 
The glimpses of grand architectural objects from this 
Park are indeed striking, and include the Towers of West- 
minster, those of the new Houses of Parliament — the long 
and rather monotonous facade of Buckingham Palace, 
with York Column soaring high in air, and the Horse 
Guards terminating the rather picturesque vista of the 
Lake. Upon the Island, in the eastern part of the Lake, 
is the Swiss Cottage of the Ornithological Society, con- 
taining a Council Room, keeper's apartments, and steam 
hatching apparatus, while contiguous are feeding places. 
On this Island, aquatic fowls brought from all countries, 
make their own nests among the shrubbery; and in the 
morning the whole surface of the Lake is alive with them, 
in all their varied plumage. The fashionable days of the 
Park, have long since gone. It was once the favorite 
lounge of royalty, and all the fashion of the metropolis, 
gathered here in the afternoon. One familiar with the 
comedies of Otway, Congreve, and Farquhar, will recog- 
nize St. James's as the favorite locale of the numerous 
assignations mentioned in those plays. Down to the days 
of Goldsmith, this Park appears to have been a fashionable 
resort. In his " Essays," he says — "If a man be splenetic, 
he may every day meet companions on the seats in St. 
James, with whose groans he may mix his own, and 
pathetically talk of the weather." Hyde Park has now 
become the fashionable afternoon lounge of the metropolis ; 
and St. James's is left to nursery-maids, and their inte- 
resting charges. A pleasant sight it is, which may be 
witnessed at all hours of the day, in clear weather, to see 
the numerous rosy-cheeked children^ and little misses in 



THE PARKS. 69 

all the gracefulness of early girlhood, engaged in feeding 
the numerous wild fowl that crowd the shores of the beau- 
tiful Lake in the Park. 

You enter Green Park, after passing the open area in 
front of Buckingham Palace, the favorite residence of the 
Sovereign ; a building by no means remarkable for the 
elegance of its architecture ; although the magnificence of 
its interior is said to atone for the defect in its external 
appearance. The poet Rogers, occupied a house fronting 
on this Park, near St. James's Place ; and here he gave 
those delightful entertainments so much sought after, and 
appreciated by the admirers of the poet. Here he collected 
those glorious productions of the ancient and modarn 
chisel; and that fine gallery of works of the first masters, 
not surpassed by any private collection in England. Byron 
said of this home of the poet — ^^If you enter Pvogers' 
House, you find it not the dwelling of a common mind. 
There is not a gem, a coin, a book thrown aside on his 
chimney piece, his sofa, his table, that does not bespeak 
an almost fastidious elegance in the possessor." By the 
high ground of Constitution Hill, crossing this Park, 
you pass to Hyde Park Corner. It was on this hill, the 
three attempts on the life of the Queen, were made at 
several times, by Oxford, Francis, and Hamilton; and it 
was at the upper end of the road^ Sir Robert Peel on 
his way for his usual ride in Hyde Park, was thrown 
or fell from his horse, of which fall he died And here 
your attention is attracted by a rather gloomy looking 
structure, faced with Bath stone, standing near the arched 
entrance. This is the celebrated Apsley House, so long 
the residence of the greatest captain of his age, the Duke 
of Wellington. It was sold to him by the Crown; and 



CP 



i^ FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

those iron blinds, said to be bullet proof, which give sucli 
a singular aspect to the house, were placed there in a 
defiant spirit by the '^Iron Duke/^ during the ferment oc- 
casioned by the Reform Bill, when his windows were 
broken by the mob. Time, which must make it yenerable^ 
will confer more and more lustre upon it ; and a century 
hence, what is now looked upon with curiosity, will be 
regarded with reverence. The remains of the Duke rest 
in the crypt, beneath the pavement of St. Paul's, in 
close proximity to the greatest of England's naval heroes, 
Nelson and Collingwood; and the sculptor's skill is at 
work upon a monument, whose grand proportions and 
allegorical allusions shall tell to after ages, the grateful 
admiration of the country^ he served so well. 

Hyde Park, through which entrance is had at Hyde 
Park Corner, by the triple arched and colonnaded Gate- 
way, extends from this point westward to Kensington 
Gardens, embracing nearly four hundred acres. The Ser- 
pentine River, which is one of its greatest ornaments^ 
covers nearly fifty acres. It has iipon its margin nume- 
rous lofty elms. The whole Park is intersected with well 
kept foot-paths, and the carriage-walks are wide^ and in 
most admirable order. During the London season, in the 
afternoons, between half-past five and six, may be seen all 
the fashion and splendid equipages of the nobility and 
gentry of Great Britain. Rotten Row, the equestrian 
drive, is crowded with male and female equestrians, mount- 
ed upon spirited steeds, whose pedigrees go back perhaps 
farther than their owners'. Here are fair equestrians, in 
whose cheeks mantle ^^all the blood of all the Howards"— 
with figures to which out-door exercise has given ample 
development, and with roses in their cheeks, telling of that 



THE PARKS. 71 

full and robust health, which is the result of their superior 
physical training. What splendid forms these young Eng- 
lish women have; what expressive features ! Free, bold, 
and natural. And then too, what a gay scene does that 
carriage drive present, on a bright afternoon in the seasoa 
— flashing with the most brilliant equipages, and all the 
gilded folly that wealth and fashion can create. There 
rolls the coronetted carriage of a dowager countess, and 
here, whirls rapidly along the light cabriolet of some sprig 
of nobility, who with his spruce tiger behind in livery, 
has seized the reins of his mettlesome steed, and is driving 
with a skill that Sanderson might envy. A rush of pedes- 
trians to the edge of the carriage drive, and the general 
turning of the faces of the crowd towards the gate at Hyde 
Park Corner, indicate the approach of some distinguished 
personages; and presently preceded by two or three dash- 
ing officers of the Horse Guards in their splendid uniform, 
and accompanied by outriders, the open landau of the 
Sovereign, whirls into the Park. The crowd of vehicles 
along the Drive open at its approach, and then close in 
upon its wake. Hats go off — dandies in stunning ties put 
up their eye-glasses — nursery maids and children gaze with 
admiration undisguised : but all rlong the line no cheer is 
heard, though everywhere the Sovereign and her consort 
are received with that deep feeling of respect, far better 
than noisy clamor, because more sincere. The appearance 
of the Queen is by no means prepossessing, and one can 
discover no traces of the beauty that her numerous 'por- 
traits induce you to expect. Her face is full, bearing traces 
of its Hanoverian origin, in the contour, while the expres- 
sion is any thing but agreeable. Of late years she has 
grown so stout, that with one of her inches, it has entirely 



72 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

destroyed the little symmetry of figure she may have once 
,'^ possessed. Besides she dresses badly, and in this respect 
is in striking contrast with her fair cousin over the chan- 
nel^ whose exquisite taste is the admiration of Paris. 
This contrast was mortifying to English pride^ in the recent 
visit to London of the fair Empress of the French, whose 
personal charms and graceful exterior struck the liege sub- 
,^. Jects of her majesty rather forcibly. The appearance of 
Prince Albert is that of a refined quiet gentleman, which 
lie most unquestionably is. He looks much older than I 
supposed, and there is an expression about the corners of 
bis mouth, indicating a soul ill at ease, although public 
'■ report gives him the credit of possessing a most amiable i 
temper. The Prince of Wales has a sickly look, with a 
countenance vacant in the extreme ; and Rumor, unless 
her tale be false does say, that the penalty is his, which 
^ often falls upon the offspring of blood relations. 

Close to the entrance on the Drive in the Park, stands 
the colossal monument erected by the women of England 
to Arthur, Duke of Wellington, This cast from cannon 
taken in the victories of Salamanca, Vittoria, Toulouse, 
and Waterloo, is at a cost of ten thousand pounds sterling; 
why it is called the statue of Achilles, I am at a loss to 
divine. It is evidently copied from one of the famous 
antiques on the Monte Cavallo at Eome ; and what a repre- 
sentation of Castor's twin brother has to do with the me- 
mory of the Iron Duke, or his exploits, would puzzle the 
brains of an antiquary. The Serpentine River runs through I j 
the Park, between Rotten Row and the Carriage Drive, pass- 
ing under the handsome bridge, which crosses it at the 
boundary line of Kensington Gardens, where Hyde Park 
ends, and Kensington begins. It is certainly a very pic- 



THE PARKS. 7o 

turesque stream^ and adds greatly to tlie beauty of this most 
charming of Parks. Pleasure boats have been introduced 
upon it^ while the neat and ornamental little boat-houses 
along its borders have a very pretty effect. The number 
of lives lost in this stream induced the Koyal Humane Soci- 
ety as early as the latter part of the last century, to erect 
a Keceiving house. It was rebuilt some twenty years ago, 
in quite an elegant stylo, and has an Ionic entrance, over 
which is sculptured the obverse of the Society's medal, a 
boy striving to rekindle an almost extinct torch, with the 
beautiful and appropriate legend beneath in Latin, which 
translated would be: "Perchance a spark may be con- 
cealed.'^ In the rear are kept boats, ladders^ ropes^ and 
poles, wicker boats^ life-preserving apparatus, &c. The 
celebrated Crystal Palace stood on the south side of this 
Park, opposite Prince's Gate, and the large elm trees 
covered in by the transepts, are still alive^ though far 
from flourishing. 

But Hyde Park has its historic associations ; and brings 
to mind the early and healthful recreations, when May-day 
was a great national festival, so often alluded to by the 
earlier dramatists — and those grand Reviews mentioned 
by the gossiping Pepys, who was the Horace Walpole of 
his day. The stern Protector Cromwell, used to drive in 
this Park ; and on one occasion, taking his usual airing 
with a pair of ponies, presented to him by some of the 
poteDtates of the Continent, was thrown off the box, and 
his feet became entangled in the harness. Out of this 
accident that old rhyming cavalier Cleveland wrote the 
following spirited lines : 

"The whip again! away! 'tis too absurd 
That thou should'st lash with whip-cord now, 
G 



74 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

I'm pleased to fancy how the glad compact 

Of hackney coachmen sneer at the last act. 

Hark how the scoffing concourse hence derives, 

The proverb ' needs must go when the devil drives,' 

Yonder a whipster cries, 'Tis a plain case, 

He turned us out to put himself in place j 

But God-a-mercy ! horses, then, once ye 

Stood to it, and turned him out as well as we. 

Another not behind him, with his mocks, 

Cries out, sir, faith you're in the wrong box; 

He did presume to rule, because forsooth, 

He's been a horse-commander from his youth; 

But he must know there's difference in the reins, 

Of horses fed with oats, and fed with grains, 

I wonder at his frolic, for be sure 

Four hampered coach horses can fling a Brewer; 

But 'Pride will have a fall,' such the world's course is, 

He who can rule three realms, can't guide four horses; 

See him that trampled thousands in their gore, 

Dismounted by a party but of four. 

But we have done with't, and we may call 

This driving Jehu, Phaeton in his fall; 

I would to God, for these three kingdoms' sake, 

His neck, and not the whip, had given the crack." 

In this Park too, wounded honor, up to a late day, was 
wont to resort for the healing of those maladies of the 
soul, which it thought only lead or steel could cure. The 
names of two Americans are to he found in the lists, who 
resorted here in the latter part of the last century, to wipe 
out insult according to the rules of the stern code. One 
of them, a Mr. Carpenter, was I believe killed. 

Between the Cumberland arched marble gateway, and the 
Albany street foot-gate, just outside the Park, and where 
the Edgeware road runs into Oxford street once stood the 
memorable gallows-tree of Tyburn. Its cruel memories 
are familiar to those who take a pleasure in criminal 



THE PARKS. 75 

annals. But it has an interest, from the fact, that beneath 
the ground on which it stood, lie the bones of Cromwell^ 
Bradshaw, Ireton, and other Regicides, torn from their 
graves at the Restoration, hung here in all their hideous 
corruption, for a space, then buried at the foot of the gal- 
lows tree. A mean revenge this, that could thus wreak 
its petty malice upon the remains of men; who, however 
much they may have vexed royalty while alive, could give 
it but little trouble or apprehension in the quiet of their 
graves. 

Kensington Gardens, bordering on Hyde Park, include^ 
an area of some three hundred and fifty-six acres. The 
most picturesque portion of these gardens is undoubtedly 
the entrance from near the Bridge over the Serpentine, 
where there is a charming walk under some old Spanish 
chesnuts. But one can hardly go amiss, in finding spots 
of rare beauty in this fashionable haunt. Long avenues 
under the interlacing branches of noble old elms — walks 
bordered by rare shrubbery — quaintly designed flower- 
gardens — and a sward rivalling in its rich velvety softness, 
the most ingenious works of "Persia's looms," are among 
some of the attractions of these delightful gardens. 

Regent's Park, encloses some four hundred acres. The 
hunting grounds of Marylebone Park, in the days of Queen 
Bess, were taken to form this noble area, which is nearly 
circular in its plan. It derives its name from the Prince 
Regent, afterwards George lY. In the southwest portion 
of this Park, is a sheet of water, with picturesque islets. 
On the eastern slope are the far-famed gardens of the 
Zoological Society. The great object of the institution of 
this Society, as appears by their prospectus, was " the 
introduction of new varieties, breeds, and races of animals 3" 



7^ rOREiGN ETCHINGS. 

and they have most thorouglily carried out their plan, in 
the magnificent variety of animal life^ here presented to 
the delighted visitor in these spacious grounds. Emeus 
from New Holland, Arctic and Russian bears, Cuban 
mastiffs, Thibet watch-dogs. Zebras, and Indian cows, 
Alligators, and Ant Eaters; and almost "every thing 
that hath, life,^^ in the wide animal kiDgdom, may be seen 
here, in spacious iron cages ; or where domesticated suffi- 
ciently, sunning themselves on the open lawns. One 
of the most interesting parts of the collection, is the 
aquatic vivarium, built of iron and glass, and consisting 
of a series of glass tanks, in which, fish spawn, zoophytes 
produce young, algas luxuriate, crustacea and mollusca 
live successfully; polypi are illustrated, together with sea 
anemones, jelly-fish, star, and shell-fish. A new world 
of animal life is here seen, as in the depths of ocean, 
with, masses of rock^ sand, gravel, coral, sea-weed, and 
sea water. The Reptile House, abounds in snakes of 
every form and color, from the poisonous Cobra, down 
to the harmless garter snake. Here too a large Boa 
Constrictor, a few years since, swallowed a blanket, and 
in a month after disgorged it. That these Gardens are 
a favored resort^ may be judged from the fact, that in the 
last year, the number of visitors exceeded half a million. 

But we cannot linger longer within the delightful limits 
of this popular place of resort. A short walk along the 
new road leading past these Gardens, brings you by Tot- 
tenham Court Road to Oxford street, and so into the noisy 
and thronged thoroughfare of Holborn. Soon you are 
approaching Holborn Hill, up which went that noble 
soul, William Lord Russel, on his way to the scaffold in 
Lincoln's Inn Fields. That large open area, is the cele- 



SMITHFIELD. 77 

brated Smithfield Market. On market days it is crowded 
with some of tlie best specimens of man and beast that 
English soil produces. But the New Market Act, will 
soon do away with the beastly glories of Smithfield, by 
which no markets hereafter, are to be nearer to Lon- 
don than seven miles, measured in a straight line from 
Saint Paul's. But Smithfield has its historic memories — 
here perished the patriot Wallace; and here its noblest 
martyr, John Rodgers, the first of the Marian persecution ; 
and Legatt, the last who suflfered at the stake in England, 
were burned to ashes. A few years since, opposite the 
gateway of St. Bartholomew's Church, some blackened 
stones, ashes, and charred human bones were discovered, 
indicating where the stake was driven. A short distance 
farther on, in Newgate Street, that gloomy looking struc- 
ture, with its area in front enclosed by handsome metal 
gates, is the celebrated Christ's Hospital. This is the home 
of the Blue Coated Boys', who with their clerical neck- 
bands, you meet so often in London. Leigh Hunt, Cole- 
ridge and Lamb, gambolled once in that area. They are 
among the most eminent of those, this great educational 
charity has sent forth to the world in modern times. And 
now we are in Cheapside — the Corinthian Portico, in the 
Tympanum of which, you may observe a group of allego- 
rical sculpture, belongs to the Mansion House of that 
short lived civic divinity, the Lord Mayor of London. It 
is of Portland stone, and resembles somewhat the Italian 
palaces, in its appearance, and would be handsome, if it 
was not so begrimed and blackened by the smoke of Lon- 
don. In the kingly state of its Lord Mayors, London has 
a security of efficiency and greatness, to which England 
g2 



78 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

herself can lay no claim. The civic monarch can never be 
a mewling infant, or a doating old man, at the mercy of 
designing courtiers. He comes into office, in the beam 
and breadth of his manhood, when no swaddling bands 
could girdle even a limb of him — and he retires before 
age has made him feeble or tyrannical. Nebuchadnezzar 
himself, who first conquered all people, kindreds, and 
tongues, and then set up the golden image in the plains of 
Dura, commanding them to worship it, could not be more 
every inch a King, than my Lord Mayor of London. 
Some wag has said, that ^'he is annually driven from his 
Mngdom )'^ not indeed, like Nebuchadnezzar, ^' to eat 
grass like oxen,^' " but to eat oxen like grass.'' 

A little beyond the Mansion House, an immense 
structure of florid architecture, with a portico evidently 
copied from the graceful one, of the Pantheon at Eome, is 

" That great hive where markets rise and fajl," 

the Exchange. Here are the celebrated coffee rooms 
of Lloyd's ; the rendezvous of the most eminent mer- 
chants, ship owners, underwriters, stock and exchange 
brokers. The Subscribers' Room at Lloyd's, is opened at 
ten, and closed at five. At the entrance of the room, are 
exhibited the shipping lists, received from Lloyd's agents 
at home and abroad, and affording particulars of the 
departure or arrival of vessels, wrecks, salvage, or sales of 
property saved. To the right and left are Lloyd's Books, 
two enormous ledgers — right hand, ships spoken with, or 
arrived at their destined posts; left hand, records of- 
wrecks, fires, or severe collisions; written in a fine Koman 
hand, in double lines. On the roof of the Exchange is a 
sort of mast ; at the top a fan, like that of a windmill : 



THE EXCHANGE. 79 

the object of whicli is to keep a plate of metal with its 
face presented to the wIdcI. Attached to this plate are 
springs, which joined to a rod, descend into the Under- 
writers' Room, upon a large sheet of paper placed against 
the wall. To this end of the rod, a lead pencil is attached, 
which slowly traverses the paper horizontally, by means of 
clock work. When the wind blows very hard against the 
plate outside, the spring being pressed, pushes down the 
rod, and the pencil makes a long line vertically down the 
paper, which denotes a high wind. At the bottom of the 
sheet another pencil moves, guided by a vane on the out- 
side, which so directs its course horizontally, that the 
direction of the wind is shown. The sheet of paper is 
divided into squares, numbered with the hours of night 
and day ; and the clock work so moves the pencils, that 
they take exactly an hour to traverse each square ; hence 
the strength and direction of the wind, at any hour of the 
twenty-four are easily seen. 

In the neighborhood of the Exchange, are some of the 
finest architectural objects in London. Northward is the 
Bank of England, an elaborately enriched pile, very pic- 
turesque in its parts ; and beyond it the palatial edifices of 
the Alliance and Sun Insurance Ofiices. Westward is the 
Mansion House, before alluded to. The square in front 
of the Exchange is adorned with an equestrian statue of 
the Duke of Wellington ; the last work of the celebrated 
Chantrey. Amid a mass of buildings and courts, occupy- 
ing three acres, on the north side of the Royal Exchange, 
stands the greatest monetary establishment of the world, 
the Bank of England. Its exterior measurements are 
three hundred and sixty-five feet on Threadneedle Street, 
four hundred and ten feet on Lothbury^ two hundred and 



80 rOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

forty-five on Bartholomew lane, and four hundred and 
forty feet on Prince's Street. "Within this area are nine 
open courts, a spacious rotunda, numerous public offices, 
court, and committee rooms, an armory, engraving and 
printing offices, a library, apartments for officers, &c. The 
Bank is the Treasury of the Government, for here are 
received the taxes ; the interest of the national debt paid ; 
the Exchequer business transacted, &c., for all which the 
Bank is paid a per centage, or commission annually, of 
about one hundred and twenty thousand pounds, with the 
profits derived from a floating balance due the public, never 
less than four millions sterling, which employed in dis- 
counting mercantile bills^ yields one hundred and sixty 
thousand pounds yearly. . The amount of bullion in the 
possession of the Bank, constitutes, along with their secu- 
rities, the assets which they place against their liabilities, 
on account of circulation and deposits; and the difi'erence 
(about three millions sterling) between the several amounts 
is called the " Best,'' or guarantee fund to provide for the 
contingency of possible losses. The value of bank notes 
in circulation in one quarter of a year, is upwards of 
£18,000,000, and the number of persons receiving divi- 
dends is nearly three hundred thousand. The Stock or 
Annuities upon which the Public Dividends are payable, 
amount to £774,000,000, and the yearly dividends paya- 
ble thereon, to £25,000,000. The issue of paper on secu- 
rities is not permitted to exceed fourteen millions sterling. 
The last dividend to the proprietors was 4 per cent., and 
and the bullion in the vaults, at the last report, was some 
twenty millions sterling. But let us enter, and view the 
workings of this huge monetary machine, the vibration of 
whose mechanism reaches the extremities of earth. You 



THE BANK OF ENGLAND. 81 

cross a small court-yard, and mounting a few steps find 
yourself in a large saloon. Along the sides of the room, 
you may notice lines of Bank Clerks, casting up ac- 
counts, weighing gold, and paying it off over the counter. 
In front of each, is a bar of dark mahogany, a little table, 
a pair of scales, and a few persons waiting for the transac- 
tion of their business. You pass from this Chamber into 
a more extensive apartment, and a more crowded one, for 
it is the room where the interest on the Three Per Cents, is 
paid, and it is the middle of the year. What a crowd ! 
and what a hubbub ! What a ringing of gold pieces as 
those little shovels empty themselves of their shining con- 
tents ! How accurately those busy clerks shovel ! they 
never have a sovereign too many or too little. 

Leaving this chamber, office follows after office, all on 
the ground floor, receiving their light through the ceiling. 
In them money is exchanged for notes, and notes for 
money ; the interest of the public debt paid ; the names 
of creditors booked and transfearred. In a word, the chief 
banking business with the outside public, is done here. 

The huge, yet perfect steam engine of the Bank, by 
which the machinery is driven, that makes the steel plates 
for engraving the notes, grinds the powder, out of which 
the ink is made, prints the notes, and performs a 
variety of other feats too numerous to mention, is a great 
triumph of human skill and ingenuity. The room where 
the notes are printed is certainly among the most interest- 
ing in the Bank. The wonders of the machinery, hero 
develop themselves to their utmost. No inspector 'keeps 
watch and ward over the printer. The machine which he 
uses in printing, compels him to be honest. Each note 
has its own number, and a double set at that. This 



82 



FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 



machine registers the exact numbers that are being printed, 
and that too in a distant part of the establishment. 

In the weighing office, you are delighted in witnessing 
the ingenious workings of the machines invented for de- 
tecting light gold — nothing can be more simple, and yet 
more efficacious in its operation. Some eighty or one hun- 
dred light and heavy sovereigns are placed indiscriminately 
in a round tube; as they descend on the machinery beneath, 
those that are light receive a slight touch which removes 
them into a proper receptacle; and those which are of legi- 
timate weight pass to their appointed place. The light 
coins are then defaced by a machine, two hundred a 
minute. There are six of these machines which weigh 
several millions of sovereigns a year. The average amount 
of gold tendered is nine millions sterling, of which more 
than a quarter is lighto In a long low narrow vaulted 
passage, heaps upon heaps are stowed away, each in their 
proper receptacle, the returned notes of the Institution, 
Each note, on being paid in at the Bank, receives the name 
of the person presenting it, and the name and time is accu- 
rately noted in the proper ledger, when it is filed away in 
this gloomy looking receptacle, for a period of ten years ; 
when the whole accumulation of the decade is burnt. 
Such is the perfect regularity which business in this regard 
is transacted, that any person who has within ten years, 
presented a bank note at its counter, can in five minutes 
be shown the identical note. In the court-yard, in the 
midst of an immense furnace, we noticed the smouldering 
ashes of notes that had once represented some fifty millions 
of pounds sterling. 

The Bank of England has passed through many trials, 
but has outlived them all; and is now established upon 



THE BANK OF ENGLAND. 83 

a very firm basis. It has been attacked by rioters, its notes 
have been at a heavy discount; it has been threatened 
with impeachment, and its credit has been assailed by 
treachery. But it possesses the power of great accumu- 
lated wealth — and aided by unrivalled skill, sober and mas- 
culine intellect, it must ever be, what one of our own 
Presidents declared it, ^' the centre of the credit system of 
the world.'' 



CHAPTER V. 

Richmond — Twickenham — Strawberry Hill. 

We were glad to take refuge from the suffocating smoke, 
^nd incessant clatter of tlie streets of London, among tlie 
quiet shades of beautiful Biclimond. There are many 
points here and in the immediate vicinity, interesting from 
their literary associations. The place itself was the home 
of the Poet Thompson, and he sleeps under a grey stone 
slab in its ancient church. At Rosedale House, where he 
resided, they show you the chair on which he sat, the 
table on which he wrote, and the peg on loMcIi he hung his 
hat. In the garden is still preserved with pious reverence, 
the poet's favorite seat, and there too is the table on 
which he 

"Sung the Seasons and their. change." 
At Richmond, Collins too resided a considerable time, and 
here composed many of his most charming poems. Poor 
Collins ! his fate was a hard one. In his latter years 
mental depression obscured the brightne&s of his intellect, 
enchaining his faculties, without destroying them, and 
leaving reason the knowledge of right, without the power 
of pursuing it. He was for sometime confined in a lunatic 
asylum. Collins left Richmond after the death of his 
friend Thompson, whose loss he so pathetically bewails in 
those lines commencing, 

"In yonder grave a Druid lies. 

Where slowly steals the winding wave ; 

The year's best sweets shall duteous rise 
To deck its poet's sylvan grave." 



RICHMOND. 85 

It was from Eiclimond Hill tliat Thompson looked out 

with a poet's eye, and all a poet's appreciation upon that 

glorious landscape which there, in the bright summer time 

tills the heart to the full with its ravishing beauty. But 

the Poet of the Seasons has painted it, and the picture is 

complete : 

" Say, shall we ascend 
Thy hill, delightful Sheen? Here let us sweep 
The boundless landscape ; now the raptured eye, 
Exulting, swift to huge Agusta send. 
Now to the sister hills that skirt her plain j 
To lofty Harrow now, and now to where 
Imperial Windsor lifts her princely brow. 
In lively contrast to this glorious view. 
Calmly magnificent, then will we turn 
To where the silver Thames first rural grows, 
There let the ieasted eye unwearied stray 
Luxurious, there, rove through the pendant woods 
That nodding hang o'er Harrington's retreat; 
And sloping thence to Ham's embowering glades; 
Here let us trace the matchless vale of Thames, 
Far winding up to where the Muses haunt, 
To Twickenham's bowers; to royal Hampton's pile, 
To Claremont's terraced heights, and Esher's groves. 
Enchanting vale! beyond whate'er the Muse 
Has of Achaia, or Hesperia sung." 

Kichmond too, has historic memories reaching back to 
olden time. It was a royal residence from the days of the 
First Edward. The celebrated Edward III. closed a long 
and victorious reign at his palace here. In the latter part 
of the fifteenth century, this palace was consumed by fire; 
and Henry VII. caused it to be rebuilt, and called it after 
himself, Richmond. And, '' the butcher's dogge did lie 
in the manor of Richmondc,'' when the celebrated Cardinal 
Wolsey retired here, after his compulsory donation of 

H 



86 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

Hampton to the bluff Harry. Here too, Queen Elizabeth 
spent a portion of the captivity she suffered by order of 
her sister Mary ; and after sbe ascended the throne, it 
became one of her favorite residences. Within its walls 
occurred that terrible death-scene, when agony and remorse 
embittered her last moments, and exhibited the once 
proud and powerful Queen in a most humiliating condition. 

Among the most interesting places of resort in Rich- 
mond is its Great Park, eight miles in circumfer- 
ence. The Park is of a gently undulating character, 
adorned by artificial lakes, and noble trees. The vast 
expanse of its plains, its venerable trees, and the solitude 
and seclusion so near a great city, are its chief attractions. 
It was the enclosure of this Park, that so excited the indig- 
nation of the people against King Charles, and was one 
among the many charges of usurpation and tyranny, that 
conspired to bring him to the scaffold. Lord John Kussel 
has a country seat here, a quiet unpretending mansion, 
embowered in roses and honeysuckles, and shaded by 
noble oaks, that are almost as old as the ancestral roll of 
the Bedfords. Richmond is the great resort of the weal- 
thy and pleasure seeking portion of London during the 
summer ; and well it may be, with its lofty site, and its 
delightful natural surroundings. 

Twickenham, nestling upon the verdant banks of Thames, 
among embowered shades is but a very short distance from 
Richmond. Here Pope's villa once stood; but now the 
site of that familiar home of the Muses, is desecrated 
by some Goth of a tea merchant, who has dared to erect 
thereon an architectural monstrosity, half pagoda, half tea- 
chest : and, as if to add insult to injury, the fellow has 
raised a sign-board on the lot adjacent, where one may 



TWICKENHAM. 87 

fead in large staring characters, ^^ Pope's Grove, in lots to 
suit purcliasei's — terms easy." The Spirit of Speculation 
has no soul for poetry, neither has " Thomas Young, Tea 
Merchant.'^ One surely might suppose that the haunt of 
such an ornament of their literature, such a master of their 
language, would have been thought worthy by English- 
men, of a national tutelage, and a public consecration. 
This at least, should have been sacred ground — so hallowed 
by classic association, and so feelingly and beautifully 
alluded to, by the Poet himself in those admirable lines : 

" To virtue only, and her friends a friend, 
The world beside, may murmur and commend, 
Know all the distant din the world can keep. 
Rolls o'er my grotto, and but soothes my sleep ; 
There my retreat the best companions grace. 
Chiefs out of war, and Statesmen out of place , 
There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl, 
The feast of reason, and the flow of soul." 

In his private relations, there never existed a better man 
than Pope. The tender care and affection of parents, who 
had preserved him to the world, through a helpless infancy, 
and a valetudinarian childhood, he repaid through life, 
with the most filial respect, and untiring afi'ection. The 
man who was admired and loved by Swift, Bolingbroke, 
Gray, Young, Arbuthnot — caressed by Bathurst, Oxford 
and Murray, whose friendships were as fervent as his 
thoughts, and lasting as his life, must have had no ordinary 
art, in enchaining the aifections and preserving the fond 
regard of such as he honored with his intimacy. Here in 
his beautiful retreat, to use the heart language of one of his 
letters : " He grew fit for a better world, of which the light 
of the sun is but a shadow. God's works here, come nearest 
God's works there ; and to my mind a true relish of the 



88 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

beauties of nature, is the most easy preparation, and 
quietest transition to those of Heaven/^ Of all that the 
Poet loved or delighted to cherish at Twickenham — the 
Grotto now alone remains, not as he left it, it is true ; but 
as the speculator will have it. The House of the Poet 
has long since been pulled down, by Lady Howe, who was 
the first purchaser, to show, as some one expressed it^ 
*^how little of communion, sympathy, or feeling may sub- 
sist in the breast of some of the aristocracy of rank^ for 
the abiding place of the aristocracy of Genius. '^ 

^^ Strawberry Hill," once the favorite retreat of Horace 
Walpole, is but a very short distance from Twickenham. 
The queer old Gothic fabric, is now, fast falling into ruin. 
The plaster is peeling off, and the bare lath exposed in 
many places. The rooms are now all dismantled. The 
Picture Gallery gives little evidence of its former magnifi- 
cence. Nothing remains of that curious collection, he 
spent years in gathering : and which it required a twenty- 
five days' sale to dispose of — save only some antiquated 
stained glass in its little low windows, and some curious 
old hangings upon the walls of the round chamber, where 
Selwyn so often set the table in a roar. The old Library 
Chamber still exhibits richly painted figures on its low 
ceiling, while the shelves with their literary treasures 
gone, and the worm eaten library table, where his ^' Castle 
of Otranto'^ was written, give evidence of the desolation 
that now reigns in all the chambers where the old literary 
gossip once delighted to wander and to muse. It was of 
this house, writing to his friend Conway, and dating from 
the place, Walpole says, "you perceive I have got into a 
new camp, and have left my tub at Windsor. It is a little 
plaything house that I have got, and is the prettiest bauble 



STRAWBERRY HILL. 89 

you ever saw. It is set in enamelled meadows, with 
filagree hedges : 

" A small Euphrates, through the piece is rolled 
And little fishes wave their wings of gold." 

It was here that he collected that splendid gallery of 
paintings, teeming with the finest works of the greatest 
masters; matchless enamels of immortal bloom by Bordier 
and Zincke, — chasings, the workmanship of Cellini, and 
Jean de Bologna — noble specimens of Faenza-ware, adorned 
by the pencils of Robbia and Bernard Pallizzi — glass of the 
rarest hues and tints executed by Cousin, and other mas- 
ters of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries — Roman and 
Grecian antiquities in bronze and sculpture — exquisite 
and matchless missals, painted by Raphael and Julio 
Clovio — magnificent specimens of cinque-cento armor — 
miniatures illustrative of the most interesting periods of 
history — engravings in countless numbers, and of infinite 
value, together with a costly library, embracing fifteen 
thousand volumes, and abounding in splendid editions of 
the classics. But Strawberry Hill, with all its treasures, 
like many a place of older renown^ was destined to illus- 
trate thre sad truth, that ''' nothing on earth contiuueth in 
oue stay.'' The antique mirror that once reflected the fair 
features of Mary Stuart, and the jewelled goblet that was 
brimmed with ruby wine, at the chivalrous feasts of the 
founder of "The Order of the Garter," — the Damascened 
blade that hung by the side of a Du Guesclin; all once 
the pride of the owner of Strawberry Hill, have passed 
with the rest of the curiosity shop, into the various cabi- 
nets of Europe, to be again in their turn dispersed, or lost 
sight of forever. In a few months after our vi>sit, the very 

h2 



90 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

structure, once adorned by all these wonders was pulled 
down, to make room for a larger and more improved 
edifice, for the residence of Earl Waldegrave, a descen- 
dant of Walpole. 

Leaving Kichmond we tarried only long enough at 
Windsor to explore a few of its interesting localities, and 
to find that the authority of Swift still holds good, " that 
the town is scoundrel." Windsor, and its surroundings, 
have been described so often by tourists, that it would be 
more wearisume than ^' a twice told tale," to repeat. The 
range of State apartments in its ancient Castle is indeed 
splendid, hung with rare paintings, and most interesting 
portraits of some of the earlier sovereigns. The Vandyke 
room devoted to portraits of Charles I. and family, by the 
artist who has given his name to the chamber, is alone 
worth the visit. There is a strange interest awakened in 
gazing at the melancholy, yet beautiful face of this most 
unfortunate of monarchs, who only proved his royalty 
when it was too late, by dying nobly on the scafi"old. The 
Chapel of St. George in the Castle, next to that of Plenry 
A^'II.'s in Westminster, presents the finest specimen of 
the florid Gothic, in England. Upon entering, your 
attention is attracted at once to the roof. It certainly is 
a most triumphant display of art. The arches seem to 
spring from the summits of the graceful columns, like the 
branches of the palm tree at Kew. The beautiful inter- 
weaving of these arches in the roof, like the fibres of a leaf, 
yet all arranged in perfect form — the lightness and elasti- 
city of the whole, which appears as if supported by magic, 
mark the highest excellence in construction and decoration. 
The whole reminds one of Milton's description of the 
Indian tree: 



WINDSOR CASTLE. 91 

" Such as to this day, to Indians known 
In Malabar, or Deccan spreads her arms 
Branching so broad and long, that on the ground 
The bending twigs take root, and daughters grow 
About the mother tree, a pillared shade." 

For Cathedrals and religious Temples, the Gothic is 
beyond a questioDj the only true style. For public Halls 
of State, give me the plain and simple majesty of the 
Doric, or the polished elegance of the Ocrinthian. Cole- 
ridge somewhere remarks, that music, sculpture, and paint- 
ing, are poetry under different forms — and surely there is 
poetry in a Crothic Cathedral. One of the most celebrated 
monuments erected in the Chapel, is that to the Princess 
Charlotte, Avhose memory is so cherished by the nation. 
I cannot see how it is possible to admire the recumbent 
figure, intending to represent the Princess, as she lay in 
death. Artistically it may be very fine; but it is too shock- 
ingly natural, if not indelicate — but the springing figure, 
representing her as rising from the bed of death towards 
the regions of celestial light, attended by angels, is incom- 
parably fine. One of the angels bears the babe of the 
Princess in her arms; the divine rapture of the face 
of the principal figure, upon which celestial light seems 
breaking, cannot soon be forgotten. The array of banners 
of Knights of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, sus- 
pended over the stalls, presents a very curious appearance. 
Nearly in the centre of the floor, a large grey marble slab 
indicates where repose the remains of Henry VIIL, Jane 
Se3'mour, and an infant child of Queen Anne. What 
emotions such a spot is calculated to awaken. Here the 
bloated tyrant sleeps by the side of his wife, who only 
escaped the executioner's axe, by dying too soon — and close 
to him lies the gentle monarchy Charles I. finding rest only 



92 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

in the grave, from his bloody persecutors. In 1813, 
under the auspices of the Prince Regent, search was made 
for the bodies of Henry YIII. and Charles I. The coffin 
of Henry contained nothing but the bones of that Prince, 
with the exception of a small portion of beard under the 
chin. The body of Charles was, however, in a most 
remarkable state of preservation. The complexion of the 
face was dark and discolored. The forehead and temples 
had lost nothing of their muscular substance ; the carti- 
lage of the nose was gone, but the left eye in the moment 
of its first exposure was open and full, though it vanished 
almost immediately, and the pointed beard was perfect. 
The shape of the face was a long oval; many of the teeth 
remained, and the left ear, in consequence of the interpo- 
sition of some unctuous matter between it and the cere- 
cloth, was found entire. The hair was thick on the back 
part of the head, and nearly black. On holding up the 
head, to discover the place of separation from the body, 
the muscles of the neck had evidently contracted them- 
selves considerably, and the fourth cervical vertebra was 
found to be cut through, in substance transversely, leaving 
the divided portions perfectly smooth and even ; an ap- 
pearance that could only have been produced by a 
heavy blow, inflicted with a sharp instrument, and which 
famished the last proof wanting to identify Charles L* 
I was afterwards shown a crayon sketch taken, of the head, 
answering perfectly to this description, and strikingly like 
the portraits of the monarch,, by Yandyke. 

I cannot now linger over the historic associations 
awakened by the Castle itself; nor will I attempt to 

* Sir Henry Halford's !Report of the Exhumation. 



WINDSOR. 93 

describe the charming scenery that renders Windsor 
Great Park^ and Virginia Water celebrated all over the 
civilized world ; but must hasten on to describe Warwick, 
Kenilworth, and Stratford. 



CHAPTER VI. 

"Warwick — Kenilworth — Stratford — Charlecotle. 

It was a bright and beautiful morning wben we set out 
from the Regent's Hotel, Leamington, for Warwick Castle : 
one of those mornings that '^ Little John/' in Robin 
Ht)od, thought "the most joyful in all the year;" a clear 
still morning in June. 

" From groves and meadows all impearl'd with dew, 
Rose silvery mists; no eddying wind swept by; 
The cottage chimneys half concealed from view 
By their embowering foliage, sent on high 
Their pallid wreaths of smoke, unruffled to the sky." 

Nothing could exceed the delightful coolness and fragrance 
of the atmosphere, laden with the scent of the new mown 
hay ; while those only who have looked out on a morning 
landscape in England, glittering in the rays of the newly 
risen sun, reflected from every dew drop, and luxuriant 
with that living green, which alone belongs to an English 
clime, can attain a full comprehension of its surpassing 
loveliness. It was not long before we found ourselves 
knocking at the door of the outer gateway of the Castle, 
then treading the narrow approach, cut through the solid 
rock, and leading up to the old home of many a feudal 
baron. Nothing can be finer than the graceful sweep of 
this curious pathway, which being covered with ivy, and 
its summit mantled with noble trees, hides the fine propor- 
tions of the Castle, until they burst upon you all at once, 
as the pathway terminates, The effect is certainly very 



WARWICK. 95 

grand. But it is not until the Great Gateway is passed, 
that you learn to comprehend the vast extent of the build- 
ing. That part which serves as a residence^ is then seen 
on the left hand. Its principal front, however, is turned 
from you toward the river Avon ; along which it stretches 
for four hundred feet. Uninjured hy time — unaltered in 
appearance by modern improvements, this home of the 
once mighty chiefs of Warwick, still retains that bold, 
irregular pleasing outline, so peculiar to the ancient Gothic 
castellated style. Connected as this Castle is, with the 
earliest periods of British history, its massive towers, and 
ivy clad battlements cannot be viewed by the lovers of 
antiquity, nor indeed by any contemplative mind, without 
feelings of the deepest interest : peopled as its walls have 
been for centuries, by heroes, warriors, and statesmen, 
who once proudly figured on the theatre of life, and whose 
names are now honorably recorded in the annals of fame. 
This venerable pile, some portions of which have resisted 
the storms of war, and the fury of tempests, for nearly a 
thousand years, has been truly described by Scott, *^as the 
fairest monument of ancient and chivalrous splendor, 
which yet remains uninjured by Time.'' A strong outer 
wall, with all needful defences, incloses the great base 
court, and was in ancient times, surrounded by a wide 
and deep moat, which is now drained and green with 
vegetation ; and over which you pass by a small bridge, 
to stand beneath the noble arch of the gateway, still 
defended by its ancient portcullis. This Castle has been 
well called the most splendid relic of feudal times in 
England. Its history, is a history of a long line of the 
Earls of Warwick, reaching down to our times from the 
days of William the Conqueror. The most remarkable 



96 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

point of that history however, was, when the culmination 
of its glory was attained in the person of 'Hhe King 
Maker," whose name Shakspeare has made, as he prophe- 
sied it would be 

" Familiar in our mouths as household words." 

But we have no inclination to dwell upon the historic 
associations clustering round this noble old feudal strong 
hold. They are in the memory of every lover of English 
history, and therefore without farther pause, let us visit 
its interior. Entering th« inner court, and passing up a 
grand stone stairway, under a fine old arch that had a 
look of Norman stateliness and strength about it; a large 
carved oaken door opened at our summons, and we found 
ourselves standing in the baronial Hall of the Castle. 
It has recently been restored, as near as possible, conform- 
infr to the ancient model. Parti-colored marbles of a 
diamond pattern form its floor, while the roof is of the 
ornamental Gothic, in the spandrils of the arches of 
which are carved, " the Bear and Ragged Staff,'^ the 
armorial device of the House of Warwick. The walls are 
wainscotted with oak, deeply embrowned by age, and hung 
with ancient armor worn by many a bold Baron of the 
House, in those fierce struggles on English soil, and upon 
the scorching plains of Palestine where 'Hhe Cross out- 
blazed the Crescent.'^ Here and there may be seen the 
good old cross-bows, that had twanged in many a stern 
border struggle, with their arrows 

" Of a cloth yard long, or more." 
The antlers of several monarchs of the herd, who had 
fallen in the chase, graced the upper part of the magnifi- 
cent windows, while the antiquated looking old fire place, 



WARWICK. 97 

with its huge logs piled before it, reminded one strongly of 
the olden time, when the mailed retainers of the ancient 
Barons, gathered in cheerful groups, round the wide 
hearth of the blazing fire place, in this old baronial hall. 
Three large Gothic windows, placed in deep recesses, shed 
a pleasing light throughout the room, while busy fancy 
led back to deeds and days of other years, conjured up the 
mail-clad knight — the bold but lordly baron, and the 
" ladle faire," — peopling with ideal beings, a spot so truly 
appropriate for indulging in romantic ideas. Near the 
middle window is a doublet in which Lord Brooke was 
killed at Lichfield, in 1G43. Opposite to the noble old 
fire-place, hangs a rich and complete suit of steel armor, 
over which is suspended the helmet, studded with brass, 
usually worn by Cromwell. The prospect from the win- 
dows of this Hail, is indeed charming. The soft and 
classic Avon, here *' flows gently" one hundred feet be- 
neath you, laves the foundation of the Castle, and continues 
its meandering way through the extensive and highly 
cultivated Park. That landscape is still indelibly im- 
pressed upon the memory. On the right, the undulating 
foliage of forest trees of every hue, intermingled with the 
stately cedar spreading its curiously feathered branches — 
and the verdant lawns where nature and art appear to 
have expended their treasures, combined to form a land- 
scape of surpassing beauty. On the left are seen the pictur- 
esque and ornamental ruins of the old bridge, with shrubs 
and plants flinging their tendrils round its ruined arches. 
I should have loved to linger in that old Hall, conjuring up 
the associations that in such a place crowd upon the most 
ordinary imagination. But with the large party that 
accompanied us, we had to play the game of " follow your 
I 



98 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

leader/' and so were conducted through state room after 
state room filled with paintings, mosaic tables, richly 
carved buffets,, gorgeous furniturcj rare and splendid china, 
with articles of vertu innumerable. One room worthy 
of all praise, was that known as ^^The Cedar Drawing 
Room/' lined with the most fragrant cedar from floor to 
ceiling, and crowded with the richest furniture. This 
furniture is antique; the mirrors, screens, and shields 
splendid, while the marble chimney piece is beautiful 
exceedingly. A table stands opposite to the fire place 
inlaid with lava of Yesuvius, upon which is a marble bust 
from the Giustiniani Minerva at Rome, flanked with noble 
Etruscan vases : upon a buhl table, near the west window 
was a Venus, beautifully modelled in wax, by John of 
Bologna. Etruscan vases of great value, are placed on 
fine old inlaid cabinets and pedestals in various parts of 
the room ; while pictures from the strong pencil of Van- 
dyke, in contrast with the rich and glowing hues of Guide 
Reni, arrest your attention at every step. Lady Warwick's 
boudoir is a lovely little room, hung with pea-green satin 
and velvet. The ceiling and walls were richly panelled, 
and had been recently painted and gilt, while the ceiling 
itself was enriched with the family crest and coronet. In 
this cabinet, I noticed two portraits painted from life, by 
the celebrated Holbein, of Anna Boleyn, and her sister 
Mary. They are both radiant with beauty ; but all seemed 
to prefer the mild sweet face of the sister, who was fortu- 
nate enough not to attract the amorous glances of the 
royal Blue Beard. A modern picture by Eckhardt, also 
commands attention and admiration ; it represents " St. 
Paul lighting a fire," after landing on the isle of Melita, 
and is remarkable for the management of light and shade, 



WARWICK. 99 

and the serene and beautiful expression, which is revealed 
upon the face of the Apostle, by the flash of the fire he is 
kindling. A noble head of Luther, by Holbein, and the 
Head of an old man, in Ruben's best style; together with 
a Boar Hunt, by the last named artist, are all fine speci- 
mens of these celebrated masters. 

Take the whole range of apartments in this Castle, and 
nothing can exceed their magnificence. The beautiful 
effect of these apartments is considerably heightened by 
by the harmony observed in the matchless collection of 
pure antique furniture throughout the whole suite. Su- 
perb cabinets, and tables of buhl and marquetrie of the 
most costly finish, splendid crystal and china cups, flasks, 
and vases of the highest style of Etruscan skill, bronzes 
and busts displaying the utmost effort of art — costly 
and rare antiques are scattered through all the rooms 
in rich profusion, yet with most exquisite taste; no inno- 
vation of the modern is allowed to injure the effect of the 
ancient; all is costly, all is rare, yet all harmonious. 
The private apartments of this Castle, not open to visitors, 
are said to be as ample and justly proportioned as the 
range of state apartments, and as richly adorned. 

In the magnificent grounds attached to the Castle may 
be seen the far-famed Warwick vase. It is of white mar- 
ble, designed and executed in the purest taste of Greece, 
and one of the finest specimens of ancient sculpture at 
present known; compared with the age of which, even 
Warwick Castle is but the thing of a day. It was found 
at the bottom of a lake at Adrian's villa^ near Tivoli, by 
Sir AVilliam Hamilton, then Ambassador at Naples, from 
whom it was obtained by the late Earl of Warwick, (his 
maternal nephew) and at his expense conveyed to England, 



100 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

and placed in its present situation. The vase is of circular 
shapC; and capable of holding one hundred and thirty-six 
gallons. It has two large handles exquisitely formed of 
interwoven branches, from which the tendrils, leaves, and 
clustering grapes^, spread round the upper margin. The 
middle of the body is enfolded by the skin of the panther, 
with, the head and claws beautifully finished : above are 
the heads of Satyrs, bound with wreaths of ivy, accompa- 
nied by the vine-clad spear of Bacchus and the crooked 
staff of the augurs; and it rests upon vine leaves, that 
climb higb up the sides, and are almost equal to nature. 

Tile day after our visit to Warwick, we left Leamington 
for Kenilworth, only some five miles away. Long before 
reaching the ruins of the ancient pile, we could dis- 
cern them looming up in majestic grandeur. Halting 
at the little inn near the ruin, for a moment, to survey 
it, we crossed the road to the great gateway, built 
by that bold, bad Earl of Leicester, where we encoun- 
tered a rough-looking specimen of humanity, who informed 
us, ^^JiG was the man icJio took care of tlie rinn." Enter- 
ing the small gate, we passed the noble Gate House, 
with its majestic portico, still sculptured by the arms 
of Leicester, and hy its elaborate architectural adorn- 
ments attesting the magnificence of its former proprietor. 
In a few moments we were standing upon the green sward, 
once the outer court of the Castle, and there right before 
us, in all the magnificence of ruin, stood the hoary pile. 
Proudly seated on an elevated spot, it exhibits in grand 
display, mouldering walls, dismantled towers, broken bat- 
tlements, shattered staircases, and fragments more or less 
perfect, of arches and windows, some highly ornamented 



KENILWORTH. 101 

and beautiful. Nor are the more usual picturesque deco- 
rations wanting. The grey moss creeps over the surface 
of the mouldering stone, and the long spiry grass waves 
o'er the top of the ramparts. To the corners and cavities 
of the roofless chambers cling the nestling shrubs, while 
with its deepening shades the aged ivy expands in cluster- 
ing masses o'er the side walls and buttresses ; or hangs in 
graceful festoons from the tops of the arches, and the 
tracery of the windows. The grand square structure, 
which we passed on entering the court yard, was formerly 
the principal entrance to the Castle. From the point 
where we first halted, to gaze upon the majestic ruin, 
appear what is styled Caesar's Tower^ and Leicester's 
Buildings, with a space now open between, but once occu- 
pied by the buildings named after the bluff Harry, who 
once dishonored them with his presence. The vast square 
building on the right, known as Cassar's Tower, is the 
strongest, most ancient, and perfect part of the ruin. 
Next to this Tower, stood once the buildings occupied by 
retainers ; but scarcely anything remains, except the crum- 
bling ruins, piled up, upon their site. Beyond these ruins, 
a fragment of what was once " The Strong Tower," lifts 
itself in air, to whose summit we ascended, over the crum- 
bling turrets of which the rich ivy hung in clustering 
masses. It was to one of the chambers in this very Tower 
the Countess of Leicester, ''poor Amy," was conveyed, as 
recorded by Scott in his " Kenilworth," after she had 
escaped from the seclusion of Cumner Hall. It was by 
the narrow winding stair, now very much dilapidated, 
by which the poor Countess ascended to her prison cham- 
ber, that we reached the ruined summit of the Tower. 
From its top a most charming landscape, spread out before 

l2 



102 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

the eye. Having with me an engraving, taken from a 
painting of Kenilworth, before the spoiler came, it was 
very easy to trace the outer wall, the inclosure, and the 
site of the ancient Lake, which once spread itself over the 
country beyond the outer wall for more than two miles. 
Plow different now the prospect, from what it was in the 
time of Dudley. Then the clear waters of the Lake re- 
flected the magnificent proportions of Kenilworth, 

"Where m/ghty towers 
Upraised their heads ia conscious pride of strength," 

while as far as the eye could reach, lay the wooded pride 
of its noble park, embracing some twenty miles within its 
range. Now meadows green with the luxuriance of 
English verdure stretch away from the foot of the ruin, 
and fields are seen, gently undulating with their ripened 
grain, where once lay outstretched the grassy slopes of that 
most '^ delightsome parke,'' which then abounded in 

" Careless red deer 
Full of the pasture." 

Descending from the highest point of this Tower, we 
soon reached the old Banquetting Hall, immortalized in 
the glowing tale of the Wizard of the North ; still a grand 
apartment some eighty-five feet long, and forty wide. 
The rich tracery which adorned its noble windows^ is 
plainly discernible, while their lofty ruined arches are now 
most exquisitely festooned with ivy. The two bayed 
recesses— the three light Gothic windows, and fine arched 
doorway sculptured with vine leaves, are now covered with 
the richest draperies of ivy, and have a very picturesque 
appearance. The trunks of this ivy, are of great thick- 
ness; and so old, that in some places the branches are 



KENILWORTH. 103 

sapless and leafless, while the grey stalks seem to crawl 
about the rmins in sympathy. Nature has been the uphol- 
sterer here, and hung these ancient walls, that once re- 
echoed to the merry song, the banquet mirth, and the light 
step of the sounding dance, with tapestry more cunning 
and exquisite than that of the far-famed Gobelins. The 
old carved fire-place, is still traceable, and the original 
outline of the chamber almost perfect. As I stood in the 
deep recess of one of its noble windows, and looked out 
upon the scene, on a branch of ivy above my head, a 
beautiful bird was pouring forth all the melody of his 
soul through his golden hued throat. Never had I listened 
to anything half so exquisite. The sound seemed to fill 
those deserted chambers with melody. " The princely 
home of mighty chiefs^ ^^ had become 

"A shelter for the bird who stays 
His weary wing to restj" 

and from the ivy that mantled the chamber, where often 
human revelry had awakened its echoes into song, was 
caroling forth the sweetest lays. Nothing can describe 
the sense of perfect desolation, as you stand within this 
ruined Hall, it falls with crushing weight upon the spirits, 
and brings before you in all its startling power, the stern 
conviction of the complete emptiness of all worldly state 
and grandeur. 

A few days after our visit to Kenilworth, we drove over 
to Stratford, passing again through the old town of AVar- 
wick, with its curious antiquated little houses, and its 
ancient hospital, founded by Leicester during the reign of 
Elizabeth. Cold indeed, must be the heart, that would 
pass by as devoid of a reverential interest, the spot 

" Where Nature list'ning stood, whilst Shalcspeare played, 
And wonder'd at the work, herself had made. 



104 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

The little town of Stratford, is like most country towns 
in England, with a street directly through it, and others 
deviating to the right and left. Some of the shops have 
quite a modern appearance, ornamented with modern plate 
glass, and stored with quite an extensive assortment of 
goods. The Shaksperian part of Stratford, has quite an 
antiquated appearance, and looks as if few changes had 
passed over it since the hoy Shakspeare disported himself 
in its quiet streets. The house where the great dramatist 
first saw -the light, is situated in Henley street; a small 
insignificant ahode, and at once arrests attention, from the 
singularity of its structure. The front has no glazed case- 
ment^ but is protected from the rain and sun by a droop- 
ing shed, like a flap of a table. Above the shed is a kind 
of sign board jutting out into the street, on which is 
inscribed, ^'The immortal Shakspeare was born in this 
House.'' Above is a window in four compartments, with 
small cottage-like panes of glass. This window lights the 
scene of the Poet's nativity. You enter the little shop 
below, guarded by a rustic half door, and soon find your- 
self on sacred ground : the shop is very small, at the. 
back of which is a kitchen smaller still, where the boy 
Shakspeare is supposed to have passed many happy hours. 
The walls, windows, and even the ceiling abound with 
snatches of poetry, names of visitors, &c. You ascend 
eagerly the tottering staircase, and find yourself in the 
chamber where the idol of your adoration, is believed 
to have been ushered into the r%m&. On arriving there 
you instinctively advance with head uncovered, for you 
feel that you are treading a spot hallowed by the birth of 
the greatest genius the world has ever known. The room 
is so small that a man of medium height, can touch the 



STRATFORD. 105 

ceiling with his hand. The chamber else, is rather large 
for the building. You go to the front windows, and 
there upon the panes written in diamond, may read the 
names of Scott, Byron, Irving, Willis, and of a host of 
other celebrities ; and in large characters, the name of one 
of the innumerable family of Smiths, the veritable John. 
There is now in fact, no space on any one of the panes 
for the minutest letter. The ceiling and walls are so filled 
with inscriptions, lines of poetry, &c., that the appearance 
presented from the middle of the room, is that of a large 
spider's web. These inscriptions, objectionable as they 
may be, in other public places, here betoken a feeling of 
rather a praiseworthy character. They tell of the univer- 
sality of the poet's fame, inasmuch as there is scarcely a 
spot on the civilized globe, that has not its representative 
here. The witty Matthews, in his journal, relates some 
amusing anecdotes respecting the visits of actors to this 
birthplace of Shakspeare. Speaking of Coates, he says^ 
*'he wrote his name on the walls of the house, complained 
of the house, said it was not good enough for the divine 
bard to have been born in, and proposed to pull it down 
at his own expense, and build it up again, so as to appear 
more worthy of such a beiug.^^ '^ Dowton too kicked up 
a great dust in the house v/here Shakspeare was born." 
The old woman who shows it, remembered him well. He 
must have been delirious with drink. ''There go; I 
cannot have witnesses, I shall cry ; and so eh ? What 
the divine Billy born here ; he, the pride of all nature has 
been in this room. I must kneel ! leave me. I don't like 
people to see me cry V Bannister, too, went there after 
dinner, for the third time in one day ; threw himself upon 
the bed, in which the dear lying woman swears that 



106 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

Shakspeare was born, nay shows tlie chair lie was nursed 
in. But Jack threw himself in his drunken raptures on 
the bed, and nearly smothered two children who were 
asleep, till his raptures awoke them.^' 

For a century and a half after the death of the world's 
poet, this house remained the property of private indi- 
viduals. A committee of gentlemen purchased it in 1847, 
for the sum of three thousand pounds, and it is now 
secured forever^ as the pride and honor of the British 
Nation. 

Tlie Church, where the remains of the Great Dramatist 
rest, is situated on the Avon, whose branches entangle 
with the stems of the water-lilies that grow along its banks. 
The tower, transepts and some other portions, are in the 
early English style, and are very perfect — the remainder 
belongs to a later period, but is not less graceful. The 
approach to the Church from the town, is by a curious 
avenue of old lime trees, forming a perfect arbor overhead, 
by the interlacing of their branches. As you enter the 
first glance reveals to you the sacredness of the place. 
The anxious eye is not long in discovering the poet's grave. 
On the left hand side near the great window, may be dis- 
cerned set in the wall, his monument, and almost beneatb 
it but a short distance removed, a small grey slab covers 
all of the Poet, that could die, with the well-known and 
oft-repeated inscription, which they tell you, has served 
more than anything else to preserve sacred his bones : but 
I doubt very much if the Poet himself ever composed such 
vile doggerel. The bust in his monument looks placidly 
down upon you, and whether the resemblance be true or 
not, you get reconciled to the hope that it is an exact like- 
ness. They all say at Stratford that it was taken from a 



STRATFOFD. 107 

cast made of his face after death, and I believe that was 
always the opinion of the celebrated sculptor Chantrev. 
The rest of the Shakspeare family lie side by side on the 
elevated step close to the rails of the altar. 

On returning from Stratford, I could not help reflecting 
upon the potency of such a fame as Shakspeare's. Pilgrims 
of all ages and lands go to Stratford, to see what? A 
little low dingy room, inclosed by four mean white washed 
walls, and a plain grey slab in a country Church, with an 
inscription thereon. But Shakspeare was born in the 
one, and his honored remains repose under the other. In 
that humble looking chamber, did one of the greatest 
minds the Divine Being, ever sent into the world, first see 
the light, first look through an infant's eyes upon a fond 
mother's smiles and tears. There beneath that humble 
shed, lay the winged genius in ''its callow down,'' nest- 
ling close to the parent bosom : but destined, in time, to 
sweep through the regions of thought with the undaz- 
sled eye, and upon the strong pinion of the eagle. There 
he was born — and that fact sheds a splendor over the walls, 
more dazzling far than tapestries, mirrors, pictures, and 
all the pomp that king's palaces can bestow. Genius has 
a kingship of its own ; it needs no mantle, orb, or sceptre. 
It is its own regalia — and before its inherent majesty, 
crowned heads, heroes, statesmen, philosophers, and poets 
have done, and will continue to do the most reverent 
homage. This spell of beauty, which genius, casts over 
objects but little interesting in themselves, such as blasted 
oaks, and time worn battered cottages, manifests the su- 
periority of time over matter, and proves how the associa- 
tions of the intellect, can ennoble the meanest forms of 
of materialism, and create the most interesting memorials 
out of the lowest things. 



108 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

On our drive homeward, we passed the seat of th. 
Luceys, whose ancestor, arraigned the youthful Shakspeare 
for deer stealing. This fine old country mansion, is one 
of a class which we regret to say, is fast disappearing 
both from the inroads of decay, and their own weight of 
years. It was erected by Sir Thorns Lucey, whose hated 
memory Shakspeare embalmed in ridicule for ever, under 
the character of Justice Shallow, Having been erected in 
the first year of Queen Elizabeth, it retains all the quaint 
old features, which were a peculiarity in the architecture 
of that period. So little changed is the place, that fancy 
may almost unbidden, call up the aspect of the scene, 
when that youth, '''■ who was for all time,'' wandered along 
its thick hedged lanes. You can almost think you hear 
tlie voice of Sir Thomas Lucey, chiding his game keeper, 
for ^' the loss of the fallow-deer;^' and the half suppressed 
chuckle of a youthful by-stander, then unknown : but who 
was afterwards to fill the world with his fame. The man- 
sion from the road, appears quite unaltered_, the humbler 
dwellings of red brick, only a little older; park palings 
merely made more picturesque by the overgrown lichen ; 
and the park as well as " the sweet Avon," exactly as they 
were many years ago, the one "flowing gently," and the 
other supplying as of yore 

" Many an oak, whose bows are mossed with age, 
And-high top bald with dry antiquity." 

While the same deer, ^^poor dappled fools," only look 
more conscious than they did, of more perfect safety in their 
assigned and native dwelling place. Art and nature here 
seemed to have stopped short of all improvement. There 
has been no need of the one to disturb the renown which 
the locality receives from the other. Even the stocks that 



STRATFORD. 109 

stand under a group of patrician trees, are suffered to die 
of natural decay. Charlecotte, has a renown given to it 
by Shakspeare, "which the present owner and direct descen- 
dant of Sir Thomas Lucey would willingly let die. The 
present young Lord of the Manor, feels to this day, the 
sting of the Poet's sarcasm upon his ancestor. 

The whole neighborhood around is full of beauty. The 
ground is passing rich, while at every moment through 
some leafy avenue, glimpses are caught of the "gently 
flowing x\von.'' Amid these dells, and by these verdant 
hill-sides, was the youth of Shakspeare nourished, and 
taught of nature: 

" Here, as with honey gathered from the rock, 

She fed the little prattler, and with songs 

Oft soothed his wondering ears with deep delight." 

Every step you tread is hallowed ground. Here in all 
this neighborhood he passed many a happy hour when a 
boy; or when he retreated back to his birth-place, from 
the turmoil of a busy life, to die like the deer "where he 
was roused." 



K 



K 



CHAPTER YII. 

Plampton Court and Bushy Park. 

''Close by those meads, forever crowned with flowers, 
Where Thames with pride, surveys his rising towers, 
There stands a structure of majestic frame, 
Which from the neighboring Hampton takes its name." 

The Poet's pencil has not, with all the richness of its 
coloring, given full expression to the natural beauties' of 
Hampton. Just as the most finished artist fails to catch 
the rich tinge of Aurora's fingers along the glowing East, 
so the Poet has failed from want of power to give expression 
in his poem, to all the luxuriance and loveliness of the 
natural beauties of Hampton. Well might an enthusiastic 
tourist exclaim as he grew enraptured o'er the remembrance 
of the unrivalled beauty of its landscape: "That nature 
at Hampton builds up aisles and transepts, courts and halls 
of her own — mighty pillars, far excelling in sublimity the 
memorials of the magnificent "Wolsey : and she here dis- 
plays brilliant landscapes, before which the drawings of 
E-aphael, the composition of Poussin, the coloring of Claude, 
must sink into insignificance." 

No city in the world can boast of more charming envi- 
rons than London. What delightful rural retreats are 
furnished in the opening lawns and verdant glades of Bushy 
Park, or in the shaded terraced walks of lofty Richmond, 
o'erlooking all the vale, with its noble Park, where the 
red deer love to haunt! What place more serene in its 
quiet beauty than Esher, in whose lonely vale, 

"The Mole glides lingering j" 



HAMPTON COURT. Ill 

or Claremont in its close vicinity. And there is noble Wind- 
sor^ -with all the rich memories that haunt its feudal pile 
^'from turret to foundation stone'' — and the aged oaks of its 
grand old Forest chronicling centuries, with the verdant 
sward o'ershadowed by those stately elms, " in the long 
drawn aisles'' of its magnificent Parks. 

Hampton occupies a peninsula almost encircled by the 
Thames. The Palace, however, to the generality of tour- 
ists, affords the greatest attraction of Hampton. Like all 
the structures in England, full of historic memories, it is 
the more interesting, because its incidents are so familiar. 
We gaze upon the Castles, and ruined fortresses of the 
middle ages on the continent ; but the associations they 
awaken are unsatisfactory : we see everything as through 
a mist, unsubstantial, shadowy, and vague. But in 
England, they start out in bold reality — and once 
familiar with the scene, — the figures of the past, that 
busy memory conjures up, pass over the stage with the 
show of an almost living presence. Thus is it at Hamp- 
ton. As you gaze upon that grand old pile, the mind 
is carried instinctively back to the stirring and familiar 
times, when Wolsey lived here in more than royal state; 
when Elizabeth summoned Shakspeare to entertain her 
upon the stage, when the unhappy Stuart here found him- 
self the prisoner of his subjects : and his oppressor led a 
a life of suspicion, and never ending fear, finding that 
even the outside show and semblance of sovereignty, 
brought with it all the cares that wait upon a crown. But 
the changing fortunes of the founder of this ancient 
palace, awaken as you gaze upon it, the most interesting 
memories. Romance has no tale so full of interest — life 
no real story of vicissitude half so strange; and death no 



112 FOREIGK ETCHINGS. 

scene of more thrilling horror — than may he read in those 
historic pages, which record the strange history of that son 
of the ohscure butcher of Ipswich, who, from his nest upon 
the ' ground^ soared so high ; who from the shambles, 
reached that point of exaltation, when 

" Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand, 

To him, the Church, the realm, their power resign." 

And then that startling, sudden fall, where having touched 
the highest point of all his greatness, he fell, 

" Like Lucifer, 
Never to rise again." 

At the Restoration, this Palace reared by the munifi- 
cence of Wolsey passed into the hands of that shrewd 
soldier, Blonk, Duke of Albemarle, offered to him by a 
grateful monarch, as a reward for the conspicuous part he 
played in the great event. But he was too politic to hold 
a place, that he had not the revenues to suj)port, and 
accepting a large sum of money in lieu thereof, it reverted 
back to the crown, in whose possession it has ever since 
remained. From the reign of the second George, I believe 
it has not b€en honored as the residence of the sovereign, 
and at the present day many of the apartments are occu- 
pied by the widows of soldiers, and men who have done 
the state some service ; but whose limited means compel 
them to accept this asylum offered to them, by a grateful 
sovereign. 

Pope has rendered Hampton Court classic ground, by 
locating within its calm and beautiful retreats, the scene 
of his celebrated "Hape of the Lock/' Here, side by 
side, with the beautiful Miss Lepel, afterwards Lady Her- 
vey, he was in the habit of wa:ndering ; and here he drew 



HAMPTON COURT. 116 

from nature, the illustrations that make that poem so 
charming. How exquisitely does he depict the mode of 
killing time by incheS; in vogue with the courtiers of that 
day : 

" Hither the heroes, and the nymphs resort 

To taste awhile, the pleasures of a court; 

In various talk th' instructive hours they passed— 

Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last ! 

One speaks the glory of the British Queen, 

And one describes a charming Indian screen ; 

A third, interprets motions, looks, and eyes, 

At every word, a reputation dies. 

Snuff and the fan, supply each pause of chat, 

"With singing, ogling, and all that.''^ 

But let US hasten to enter the Palace, rendered so inte- 
resting by the historic and literary associations that clus- 
ter about it. Of the five courts, composing the original 
palace of Wolsey, only two now remain in the condition 
they were during the time of the Cardinal. The first, or 
outer court, is said to be precisely in the condition it was 
left by him ; but it is by no means improved by a long 
line of stables and barracks, always unsightly, but never 
more so,"than when they disfigure walls, hallowed by the 
traditions and remembrances of the past. Standing beneath 
the colonnade at one end of the middle quadrangle, you 
have a good view of the south side of Wolsey's Hall, with 
the great windows. The octagonal turrets on either side 
of the gateway are highly characteristic of the architectu- 
ral taste of the time. The medallions of Eoman Empe- 
rors in terra cottaj placed in the brickwork of these towers, 
and on those of the adjoining court, are said to have been 
the gifts of the celebrated Leo X. to the Cardinal. 
The oriel windows on both the gateways of this court, 

adorned with the escutcheons of Henry YIII. have great 
k2 



114 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

richness^ and elegance. Yon enter the bnilding^ throiigli 
the before mentioned colonnade, and pass up '^ The 
King's Staircase/^ into what is known as the Guard 
Chamber. The ceiling of this staircase was painted by the 
ubiquitous Yerrio, the allegorical creatures of whose genius 
look down upon you from the ceilings of half the struc- 
tures in the kingdom. The pictorial nonsense here dis- 
played, is said to shadow forth in allegory a courtier's com- 
pliment to royalty ; but as the study involved a severe 
straining of the vertebrae of the neck, it would hardly re- 
pay the sacrifice, and so we passed into the Gruard Koom. 
Here the same ingenuity, that at the Tower, has thrown 
together in so many fantastic forms, the arms of different 
centuries, has been at work; and muskets, halherds, pis- 
tols and swords, drums, bandaliers and frontlets are min- 
gled together in devices most strange^ and yet most beau- 
tiful in their general effect. A thousand men might from 
this singularly grouped armory along the walls, put them- 
selves in order of battle. Nor are pictures wanting to 
embellish this grim looking armory. The pencils of 
Giulio Romano, Canaletto, and Zucchero, all have contri- 
buted to adorn its panels. There is the kingly mass of 
the Coliseum, by Canaletto, as faithful in its representation, 
as his wondrous pictures of Venice. And there, filled with 
the spirit of his master, both in conception and execution, 
Bomano has told the story of that fierce, unequal fight, 
between Constantine and Maxentius. Turning from the 
wonders of art, you may look out upon the wonders of 
nature from these noble old windows. From them, what a 
rich prospect spreads out before you — there are the rivers 
Thames, Mole, and Ember; the Surrey hills in the distance; 
the grassy slopes, yew trees, and Queen Mary's bower in the 
foreground. Leaving this Guard Eoom, you pass through 



HAMPTON COURT. 115 

room after room filled from ceiling to floor with a great 
collection of paintings, from the works of the first masters, 
down to some of the most wretched daubs of modern times-. 
In the large Hall, known by the name of Her Majesty's 
Gallery, may be seen portraits of Queen Elizabeth, taken 
from life, in infancy, girlhood, and old age. There is the 
faintest blush of beauty on the baby cheek of the future 
Queen — gone, entirely gone in the face of the young girl 
of sixteen, who stands before you at full length, with 
attenuated features, and neck disgustingly thin. But 
what shall I say of that concentration of ugliness, if not of 
deformity, that looks down upon you, from the portrait of 
this Queen, in her maturer years; — hair of the brightest 
red, a face over which the ploughshare of Time,- has passed 
in many a furrow, and ''Hhat pale Roman nose/' as Wal- 
pole calls it — all combine to give you the idea of the ugliest 
of mortals. And yet this hideous old hag had the vanity 
to have herself painted in an allegorical picture, in which 
Venus is represented as hiding her eyes from the dazzle of 
her beauty, and Juno retiring from the useless competition. 
There are also several portraits of that royal Blue Beard 
Henry YIII. in this chamber, taken at different periods of 
his life ; but all revealing in the sensual face, the base soul 
that lurked within. A portrait of the Earl of Surrey, by 
Holbein, excites considerable interest. It furnishes a 
curious illustration of the costume of the ''^gay and gal- 
lant," at the Court of the bluff Harry. It is a full length, 
dressed entirely in scarlet. The character of this young 
nobleman, reflects splendor even upon the name of How- 
ard. With the true spirit and dignity of an English 
nobleman, and a personal courage almost romantic, he 
united a politeness and urbanity at the time almost peculiar 



116 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

to himself. With the story of the great love entertained 
by this agreeable poet and accomplished gentleman, for 
the beautiful Geraldine, the whole literary world is 
familiar. Near this portrait of Surrey, may be noticed that 
of Will Somers, the celebrated jester, who is reported to 
have been the only person that dare say truthful, and neces- 
sarily severe things to his brutal, lustful master. This ex- 
traordinary court fool, is portrayed behind a glazed lattice, 
tapping with his knuckles, seemingly to arrest the passer- 
by, that he may play off upon him, some sallies of his wit. 
The countenance is replete with that expression of peculiar 
humor, which speaks volumes, upon the character of such 
w^himsical retainers of the Court. A most interesting 
picture by Holbein, is in the " Queen's Audience Cham- 
ber," being a portrait group, representing Henry VIII. and 
family. The King is seated on a chair of state, under a 
rich canopy, with Queen Jane Seymour, Princesses Mary 
and Elizabeth standing by : the scene is an open colonnade. 
A very interesting portrait of Margaret, Countess of Len- 
nox, mother of Darnley, may be noticed near this last pic- 
ture, also by Holbein. This illustrious lady was united 
to the royal families of England and Scotland by the 
ties of a multiplied relationship. I remembered the 
insci'iption on her tomb in Westminster Abbey, setting 
forth that she had, to her great grand-father, King 
Edward TV. — to her grand-father Plenry VII., to her 
brother James V. of Scotland, to her son King Henry I. 
of Scotland, to her grand-child King James VI. of 
Scotland, afterward James I. of England. There is a 
right royal mein about the portrait of this illustrious lady, 
worthy of the race whose blood coursed so richly through 
her veins : but the picture awakened more interest from 



HAMPTON COURT. 117 

the fact; that I was gazing upon the actual portrait of the 
mother of Darnley, and thought I could discern in the 
sweet expression of the countenance, the original of that 
eflfeminate beauty, which in Darnley so captivated the 
gentle heart of Mary. In the Prince of Wales' Bed 
Room, there is a full length portrait of Mary, Queen of 
Scotts, by Zucchero — a sweet melancholy face, such as 
would haunt one in his dreams. She is dressed in full 
mourning, her left hand resting on a table, upon which is 
placed a breviary, the right holding a rosary. The date of 
1580, inscribed on this picture, would make her age about 
thirty-eight years, and it must have been taken while she 
was a prisoner of Elizabeth. Miss Strickland mentions this 
picture, as among the few extant, that give any idea of 
the features of the unfortunate Stuart. A close examina- 
tion of the portrait will satisfy the observer, that in early 
life Mary must have been eminently handsome. When 
this was taken, suffering and persecution, such as few 
women ever endured, had evidently dimmed the brightness 
of her eye, and robbed her form of its elasticity and grace. 
There is a sweetness of expression in the large melancholy 
eyes, that rivets your attention at once. The features are 
faultlessly regular, and there is in the small and exquisitely 
formed mouth, an expression almost too lovely to be human. 
In King William Ill's, bed-room are to be found the 
celebrated portraits of the Beauties of the Court of Charles 
II., by Lely. With one or two exceptions these portraits 
are not remarkable for any great beauty. The Duchesses 
of Cleaveland and of Portsmouth look down upon you from 
canvass, just as you might imagine them in life — sensual, 
lustful — devilish. The face of poor Nell Glwynne has more 
redeeming points; there is something in the expression of 
her rather sweet countenance, indicating, that under a more 



118 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

moral training, and different auspices, slie might hare 
become an ornament to lier sex — her heart was in the 
right place, and who can read her sad story without feeling 
that 

« Her life 
"Was a very rebel to her will." 

The Queen's Drawing Room is interesting to an Ame- 
rican from the fact, that its walls are lined with some of 
the best paintings by his countryman. West. With the 
exception of six historical pieces, they are mostly portraits 
of the family of his patron, George IIL, but those six 
are sufficient to perpetuate his fame. His two celebrated 
pictures, the Departure of Eegulus, and the Death of 
Wolfe, rendered so familiar by engravings, are here. But 
the finest picture, and conceived too in the grandest style of 
historic art, is the one representing '^ Hamilcar swearing 
the infant Hanibal, never to make peace with Eome/' The 
composition of this piece is superb, and the grouping won- 
derful. The stern and determined expression of Hamilcar, 
as he looks upon the boy whose defiant spirit flashes from 
his eyes, is most grandly conceived. 

As a climax to picture-viewing at Hampton Court, it 
is well to enter last the Picture Gallery erected by Sir 
Christopher Wren, to contain the celebrated Cartoons of 
Raphael, which by themselves would form sufficient attrac- 
tion to draw the sight-seeing tourist to Hampton Court. 
These drawings were designed by Raphael about the year 
1520, by order of that most munificent of Popes, Leo X. 
They were sent afterwards to the famous manufactory at 
Arras in Flanders, to be copied in tapestry, two sets of 
which were ordered : one set I had the pleasure afterwards 
of seeing at the Vatican in Rome, but so faded that the 



HAMPTON COURT. 119 

general effect of the coloring is destroyed. The other set, 
after several mutations of fortune, fell into the hands of 
some princely German, who took them with him to his 
native town, where they now decorate his dining hall. 
These Cartoons, so called from being painted on sheets of 
paper, were bought in Flanders by the celebrated Rubens, 
for Charles I. When this King's fine collection was sold 
and dispersed, they were purchased by Cromwell for £300. 
In the reign of Charles II. they were for a long time con- 
signed to neglect in the lumber rooms of Windsor. King 
William III. found them there, had them carefully cleaned 
and restored, and finally George III. ordered the present 
gallery to be erected, where they have ever since remained 
the admiration of artists, and of all who claim any great 
love for art. These Cartoons display not only great dig- 
nity and grandeur of form, and an intelligent and harmo- 
nious arrangement of groups, but great depth and power 
of thought, and a most surprising dramatic development of 
each event they represent. Ilazlitt has well said of them : 
" Compared with the Cartoons, all other pictures look like 
oil and varnish; we are stopped and attracted by the color- 
ing, the pencilling, the finishing, the instrumentalities of 
art : but here the artist seems to have flung his mind upon 
the canvass. His thoughts, his great ideas alone prevail : 
there is nothing between us, and the subject: we look 
through a frame, and see scripture histories, and are made 
actual spectators in historical events.'' 

The fine and accurate engravings we have of these Car- 
toons, have rendered their merits known to the civilized 
world. Never was a greater eulogy passed upon a painter's 
skill, and unwittingly too, than that by Garrick, when he 
attempted by a personation to improve upon the figure and 



120 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

position of Raphael's Elymas the Sorcerer, in tlie Cartoon 
of that name. A select party, among whom was our 
American painter West, and the renowned actor Garrick, 
visited by invitation, the Earl of Exeter at Burleigh House. 
After dinner the conversation turned on Garrick's beauti- 
ful villa at Hampton, and then naturally upon the neigh- 
boring palace. As an obvious subject the Cartoons were 
noticed, when Garrick turning to West, said : ^' These 
Cartoons are spoken of as the first works of art in the 
world, yet I have often passed through the gallery in a 
hurried manner, without being very forcibly struck with 
them. West expressed his surprise, and replied : "That 
the superior excellencies of these pictures could only be 
discovered and appreciated by study; but that such a man 
as Garrick should not be struck with them, was to him 
quite extraordinary. '' Mr. Garrick asked what figure Mr. 
West thought most calculated to arrest his attention — 
" Several,'^ was the answer, " but Elymas, the Sorcerer,^' 
was more particularly noticed. "Ah,^^ replied Garrick, 
" I was struck with that figure, but did not think it quite 
in character — this man was an attendant at the Court of a 
Roman governor^ and could have been no vulgar fellow, 
yet he stands with his feet there in the picture like a clown 
— why did not Raphael make him in his distress, extend 
his arms like a gentleman seeking assistance ? The com- 
pany highly interested in the conversation, united in 
requesting the favor of Mr. Garrick to personate the sor- 
cerer, as he would on the stage^ adding the compliment, 
that he was always led by the strong feelings of his mind 
into such a perfect expression of look, and propriety of 
attitude, suitable to the character he represented, that the 
theatre and the actor were forgotten in the impression of 



HAMPTON COURT. 121 

reality with which he governed his audience. Garrick 
consented, closed his eyes to be in the position of the sor- 
cerer, and by the time he was in the middle of the room 
appeared the exact counterpart of the figure in Raphael's 
Cartoon. Mr. West softly approached him, and desired 
him not to alter his position, but suddenly to open his 
eyes. The actor did so, and suddenly exclaimed at once, 
^' I am Raphael's Elymas ! I am Raphael's Elymas V to 
the great delight of Lord Exeter and his guests. I per- 
ceive, he added, in reply to a banter of Mr. West's, about 
the elegance of attitude, ^'that a man deprived of sight 
will not present the foot incautiously to obstacles, or think 
of a graceful extension of the arms : fingers and toes, will 
like feelers of an insect be advanced for discovery and 
protection." This was certainly a high and remarkable 
tribute to the accuracy with which the noblest painter the 
world has ever known, delineated nature, aad that too 
from the world's greatest actor. 

One of the most beautiful chambers at Hampton Court, 
is undoubtedly the large Grothic Hall, designed by Cardinal 
Wolsey, and completed after the great Churchman's dis- 
grace by his royal master, when Anne Boleyn was in the 
height of her short-lived favor. The proportions of this 
noble apartment, are strikingly grand, being one hundred 
and six feet in length, and forty in breadth. The roof is 
elaborately carved and richly decorated with the arms 
and cognizances of the royal Blue Beard. Entering be- 
neath the musician's gallery, a blaze of light, gold and 
glitter attract the eye; and yet according to the promptings 
of strict taste, it might be suggested that the decorations 
are somewhat too showy, and the colors of the banners 
suspended from the ceiling rather tawdry than otherwise. 



122 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

This Hall is lighted by seven lofty and well proportioned 
■windows^ placed at a considerable distance from the floor : 
but the noble old window at the end, rich with devices in 
stained glass^ is th-e finest of all. In the centre is a whole 
length portrait of Henry YIII. and the compartments on 
each side represent the arms and mottoes of his six Queens. 
It was upon one of the panes, that the Earl of Surrey is 
said to have inscribed with a diamond, some lines upon 
his mistress Geraldine, which so excited the jealousy of 
the royal brute, his master, that it finally brought him to 
the scafi^old. But Surrey, like all the poets of his time, 
modelled his verse after Petrarch, and it was necessary, 
like him, whose style he so devoutly and enthusiastically 
studied, that he should have a lady-love upon whose ima- 
ginary coldness or slights he might pour out the whole 
flow of his amorous versification. Surrey owed his death 
to something more than the crime of writing amorous 
verses to the young wife of Sir Anthony Brown. The 
walls between the windows are hung with ancient faded 
tapestry, representing the stories of Abraham and Tobit. 
This Hall has some historic interest; as it is said to have 
been the place where Shakspeare performed on the first 
acting of his plays before Elizabeth. Around the walls 
are stag's heads carved in wood, with very fine antlers of 
the red deer, and the elk, above which are banners dis- 
playing the arms and badges of Wolsey, and the different 
offices he held under the crown. Near the Great Hall is 
the Withdrawing Eoom, with a ceiling of surpassing beauty, 
decorated with pendant ornaments. The ceiling of the 
Library at Abbotsford is an exact imitation of this. The 
wails are rustling with faded tapestry, whereon may be 
faintly traced some spectral looking allegorical figures. 



HAMPTON COURT. 123 

Above the tapestry are se-ven fine Cartoons painted by 
Carlo Cignani, being designs for the frescoes painted in 
the Ducal Palace of Parma, about the latter end of the 
fifteenth century. But one of the most interesting things 
in this fine chamber, is a profile of Wolsey in panel over 
the fire place, placed there by the Cardinal himself, and 
no doubt an excellent likeness. It corresponds to the 
engravings of "Wolsey of our times ; with which every one 
is so familiar. 

It is delightful after wandering through the long galle- 
ries of Hampton Palace, to pass out from your exhausting 
work, to refresh yourself beneath the shady yew trees of 
that most charming Park, or inhale the air pregnant with 
a thousand odors, which blows cool over the beautiful 
gardens. Bushy Park is not surpassed in its attractions 
by any in England. Here is the magnificent avenue, or 
rather rows of avenues of the horse chesnut tree, extend- 
ing in length one mile and forty yards. On either side 
the great avenue are four others, the united breadth of the 
whole being five hundred and sixty-three feet, and the 
quantity of ground covered sixty-seven acres. In the pri- 
vate garden they show the curious visitor the Great Vine, 
said to be the largest in the world. In fruitful seasons it 
is cumbered with from two to three thousand bunches of 
grapes, of the Black Hamburg sort, weighing on the ave. 
rage a pound each. The stem of this giant vine, in itself 
a vineyard, is thirty inches in circumference at the great- 
est girth, one hundred and ten feet long, and encloses a 
space of two thousand two hundred feet square. The 
largest oak tree in England is to be seen near the old 
stables in Hampton Court Park — it is thirty-three feet 
round, and consequently with a diameter of eleven feet. 



124 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

From fhe terrace parallel- to the Thames, there is a 
most delightful prospect of the river; and the verdant 
meads on the opposite side. One could almost fancy, look- 
ing out upon the vrater views, that the Belinda of Pope, 
was again seated beneath the rich awning of her gilded 
barge in conscious beauty : 

"The sumbeams trembling on the floating tides; 
While melting music steals upon the sky, 
And softened sounds along the waters die; 
Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play 
Belinda smiled, and all the world was gay." 

An entire day, was profitably employed in wandering 
about Hampton Court, and its beautiful grounds; for 
although we had taken an early start, the myriad gas-lights 
were flashing along Eegent Street, as we drove rapidly 
from the railway station, to our lodgings in Hanover 
Square. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

PARIS.— AN ENTRANCE AND AN EXIT. 

Crossing the Channel — Paris — The Tuileries and its associa- 
tions — The Louvre — Place de la Concorde — The Churches 
of the Madeleine, St. Roch, and St. Denis. 

Those wlio have been unfortunate enough to cross the 
Channel from Folkestone to Boulogne, in a storm, will 
know how to appreciate the intense disgust which clings 
to the mere reti:ospect of that transit. In those small 
steamers, during the drivings of such a pitiless storm as 
we encountered, passengers were speedily driven from the 
upper deck, to the small cabins below : and there with an 
economy of space worthy of a Slaver, things and persons 
speedily underwent "a sea change.'^ I cannot conceive 
that Dante in all his fourteen embassies from the Floren- 
tine States, ever went on a sea voyage, or ever crossed the 
English Channel ; or he would most certainly have embodied 
in his Purgatorio, or Inferno, a most horrifying episode on 
sea-sickness, which the lapse of centuries since he wrote, 
involvino; the noblest discoveries in chemical and medical 
science, has not availed to banish from the list of those 
ills, 'Hhat flesh is heir to," on the sea. Landing at 
Boulogne after nightfall, in a drenching rain, with but the 
sickly gleam of a few gas lamps, making 'Markness visible" 
on the Quay — was certainly not calculated to put one in 
the best of humors. But after passing the rather rigid 
scrutiny of French Custom House officials, we found 
in the neatness and comfort of a French Hotel some 

solace for all our vexations. A most unexceptionable 
l2 



126 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

Bupper, and a night's repose upon couches, whose luxuri- 
ousness would have satisfied the most discontented Syba- 
rite — restored our tempers to their natural equilibrium ; 
and our first morning on the soil of France, found us in 
the best of humors. There is nothing in Boulogne that 
would induce the traveler to linger, and we left it at noon 
of the next day for Paris. After a somewhat tedious and 
monotonous ride, through a flat and uninteresting country, 
just as the shades of evening were settling down upon the 
landscape, we caught sight of the heights around Paris ; 
surmounted by those curious looking wind mills. Here 
was the position on those eventful last days of March, 
when in the absence of Napoleon, Joseph Bonaparte, 
and Marshals Marmont and Martre, vainly endeavored to 
repel the allies and save Paris. Those heights have their 
stirring tales to tell, how fields were lost and won. How 
the black huzzars of Brandenburg annihilated whole squad- 
rons of Imperial Cuirassiers — the finest cavalry of Europe : 
and how^ the bearded Cossacks of the Don, charged batte- 
ries, entrenchments, redoubts and regiments, until one 
hundred pieces of cannon were silenced, and four thousand 
French;, as gallant fellows as ever drew trigger, lay dead 
along the lines — leaving Marmont to make the best terms 
he could for the astonished Eagle of the Empire. 

Lights were flashing along the Boulevards, and gay 
throngs were rapidly filling both sides of that magnificent 
thoroughfare as we drove rapidly through it. Turning 
down the Rue de la Paix, we rattled over the Place Ven- 
dome, catching a passing view of that dark shaft which 
still commemorates after the manner of Trajan's Column 
at Eome^ the glorious deeds of the ^^ Man of Destiny,'' 
whose statue ^till looks down, upon the city he loved so 



PARIS. 127 

well. The next morning from the balcony of the Hotel 
Meurice^ we took a first view of Paris by daylight. From 
this elevation the eye commanded the finest portion of the 
Hue de Kivoli, now fast becoming, under the sagacious 
policy of the present Emperor, one of the finest streets in 
this beautiful capital. It was Sunday ; but the gay city 
knows no rest. The street is alive with all the stir and 
excitement of Parisian life. Yonder rattles an omnibus 
with its merry crowd upon the top ; right behind it a 
heavily laden sand cart drags slowly along — on the oppo- 
site side, arm in arm, singing merrily, go some workmen 
in blue shirts — these are blouse-men, those terrible fellows, 
whenever the tocsin of Revolution is sounded. And listen, 
the stirring roll of the drum is heard, and here comes a 
detachment of the recently created Imperial Guard, with 
their high and ungainly looking caps. These are all 
picked men of regiments, chosen by their Imperial Master 
on account of long service, proficiency, or marked bravery. 
The Garden of the Tuileries is directly over the way, with 
its pleasant walks and graceful fountains. In orderly rows 
under the trees stand the long line of chairs and stools, to 
he brought forth in the course of the day, for the thou- 
sand k)ungers, young and old, who through the long sum- 
mer afternoons crowd this favorite place of resort. And 
there is the dark and sombre mass of the Palace of the 
Tuileries. It dates back for its origin to that bold bad 
woman, Catharine de Medicis, and only failed of comple- 
tion under her auspices, by the superstitious fears awakened 
by an astrological prediction. It slowly advanced towards 
completion under the munificence of Henry IV. and Louis 
XIII., and first became a royal residence, when the gay 
and gallant Court of Louis XIV. filled its spacious Halls, 



128 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

and magnifiGent saloons with all the fashion and folly of 
France. This old pile could tell many a fearful tale. It 
witnessed the scenes of the dreadful 20th of June, 1792, 
when that terrible crowd of thirty thousand, composed of 
all the vile cut throats and abandoned women of the metro- 
polis, defiled before Louis XVI. as he reclined in one of 
the embrasures of those windows, surrounded by a few 
faithful National Guards. They carried a bleeding heart, 
torn from some aristocrat's breast, upon a pike. The 
Amazons shook above their heads olive branches and spears, 
dancing wildly, and singing that dreadful revolutionary 
song, " Ca Ira.^^ In those very gardens, right before us, 
an eye witness of the outrage stood the youthful Napoleon, 
"all unknown to fame," and expressing his furious indig- 
nation, at the license permitted to the mob. But when 
the poor frightened King put on the "Cap of Liberty/' 
he could not restrain his indignation, and uttered that 
memorable expression; "th.ey should cut down five hun- 
dred of these wretches with grape shot, and the rest would 
speedily take to flight." If the poor King had only known 
the will and energy of that strange Corsican youth, then 
standing in the gardens of his Palace, he might have saved 
his throne and life. But it was not so to be. France 
must be scourged for her crying sins, and the hour of 
vengeance had struck. It was here too, in this very 
Palace, that one of the noblest instances of heroic devotion, 
was exhibited by the unshaken fortitude, with which the 
Swiss Guard, amid the defection that was around them, 
stood by the throne they had sworn to defend. They were 
mowed down by the storm of grape shot, and fell in the 
place where they stood, unconquered even in death. Well 
has the historian Alison said of their devotion^ "that iu 



PARIS. 129 

this last extremity it was neither in its titled nobility, nor 
its native armies that the French throne found fidelity, but 
in the free-born mountaineers of Lucerne, unstained by the 
vices of a corrupt age, and firm in the simplicity of a rural 
life." Outside the walls of Lucerne, hewn out of the 
solid rock by the chisel of Thorwalsden, the representation 
of a dying Lion, wounded by an arrow, and seeming in the 
agonies of death to protect the Bourbon fleur-de-lis, com- 
memorates the valor and faithfulness of those noble Swiss. 
A very few hours' association with the gay and frivo- 
lous crowds of the French capital, make you feel and 
appreciate the wide difference there is, between it and 
London. Coming from London direct to Paris, is like 
passing into a new state of existence — or, as if an inhabi- 
tant of our dull earth, should be transported suddenly to 
some far off planet, where all is continued sunshine, and 
life, with an endless pursuit after pleasure. Edouard Gour- 
don, in his ^^ Bois de Boulogne,^^ sums up the principal 
characteristics of the gay Capital of the Franks, thus : 
^' the physiognomy of Paris, is as changeable, as that of a 
beautiful female. To live in Paris is a perpetual travel, 
because the entire world is in Paris. It is as if one had 
his eyes fixed perpetually upon a kaleidoscope, ever in 
motion — a panorama every hour. Not only do the days 
here not resemble one another ; but each moment differs 
from that which has preceded it.^' This, making allow- 
ance for the inflated style which belongs to modern 
French literature, is a very fair picture of Parisian life 
and its mutations. The Frenchman is your true epicurean, 
who lives for the present, and knows no future ; or if he 
does^ cares not for it. But while a passion for enjoyment, 
a contempt for life without pleasure, a want of religion 



130 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

and morality^ fill tlie gaming liouseS; La Morgue, and tli'e 
Hospice des Enfants Trouves — far be it from me to say, 
that there does not exist with it all, a refined taste for lite- 
rature, and the fine arts ; or else how are we to account for 
the Public Galleries, Libraries, and the Halls of their 
numerous Literary Societies ? But it is only in the front 
rank of society, you find those who rejoice in these more 
refined and exalted pleasures — the great mass certainly 
seem to be loungers in search of pleasure, — time-killers 
whose theatre of glory is the Boulevards, the Champs 
Elysees, the Jardin Mabille, the Chateau des Fleurs, or 
the Theatres. In the streets, the walks, the theatres, the 
public gardens, this class may everywhere be seen — saun- 
tering on the Boulevards — laughing loud at the Yarietes, 
and spreading everywhere its own easy and unceremonious 
air. 

But dropping the didactic style, let me attempt to give 
a description of this remarkable city^ whose enchantments 
would serve to set the spirit of Haroun al Raschid on fire. 
Come with me to the Louvre this fine morning. Passing 
out from the Hotel Meurice, you find yourself in the Rue 
de Bivoli. What a noble street it is, with the magnificent 
Place de T Hotel de Yille, at one extremity, and the spacious 
Place de la Concorde at the other. Under the judicious 
management of Louis Napoleon, this street has been very 
much enlarged and beautified, and when completed, will 
hardly have its superior in any city of the world. A short 
walk, along the lofty iron railing of the Gardens of the 
Tuileries, and by one extremity of the Palace brings you 
to the entrance to the Place du Carrousel. Passing into 
the Place du Carrousel, your attention is arrested by the 
fine proportions of the triumphal Arch erected by Napo- 



PARIS. 131 

leon I. in front cf the Palace of the Tuileries. It is in 
ieiitation of the Arch of Septimus Severus, near the head 
of the Forum at Rome; and with its bronze eagles, hoi'ses, 
and magnificent car of victory on its summit, is in every 
way worthy of the great Captain, whose victories it com- 
memorates. A few steps farther on, and we are at the 
entrance of the Louvre, next to the Vatican, the noblest 
depository of art in the world. Entering the Musee des 
Antiques, the rich associations awakened by the statues 
in this Hall, derive augmented charms from the surround- 
ing architectural grandeur. Full range and scope are 
afforded in the Louvre, for a survey of the glorious con- 
ceptions of the sculptures genius deposited here. There 
is no stowing away of deities on shelves, nor are demigods 
and heroes, whose immortality has been secured to them 
in the marble of Pares, thrust into corners and dark pas- 
sages, like impounded objects of foreign manufacture in 
the Custom House. It is certainly a great privilege to 
behold these superb impersonations of fabled divinity, in 
such a theatre as the Saloons of the Louvre, where arch 
and column, frieze and cornice, wrought after the patterns 
of the purest originals of antiquity, or the very originals 
themselves, combine so happily to sustain the dignity and 
majesty of sculpture. The French painters too, have great 
advantages as cultivators of art, in the spaciousness of 
the Galleries of the Louvre — the ante-room of which 
admits of several pictures of the dimensions of thirty feet 
by twenty. One can only get a general idea by description 
of the vast collection of pictures, ancient and modern, in 
these galleries. There was one room in the Louvre, where 
I often loved to linger, containing two large paintings by 
Baron Gros, representing events in the life of Napoleon. 



132 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

One of these pictures is a spirited representation of the 
Battle of Eylau^ or rather Napoleon visiting the field 
after the battle, and conferring the decorations upon 
the wounded and dying. This painting has been made 
familiar to us in America by numerous engravings, which 
are strikingly accurate. Nothing can be finer, than a 
painting, representing Napoleon in the midst of those 
stricken with the plague, in the Hospital in Egypt. Look 
at those horrid wretches crouching in the foreground 
of the picture ; how terrible their countenances I where, 
upon every feature the frightful disease has set its dread 
seal — how emaciated their forms^ and what despair in 
their looks ! as they gaze with stupid expression, upon 
their fearless young commander, who has braved all the 
dangers of contagion, and now stands in the very midst of 
the plague stricken. ^^ The Man of Destiny," is putting 
his naked hand, from which he has just removed his 
military glove, upon the bare fiesh of one of the victims 
to the loathsome disease. An aid, just behind the General, 
is applying his handkerchief to his nose, evidently dread- 
ing the influence of the contagion 3 while another is 
attempting to arrest the arm of his commander, startled 
at the presumption^ which not satisfied with being in the 
midst of contagion, seems to court the disease by actual 
contact with it, in its most terrible form. The countenance 
of Bonaparte is remarkably fine, clouded by an expression 
of sadness, evoked by the dreadful scene of suffering around 
him, and yet calm and assured, without a trace of fear or 
apprehension. There is one remarkably fine face in the 
group : that of a young officer in a corner of the room, upon 
whose handsome features the shadows of death are rapidly 
advancing. His dimmed eyes are turned towards his com- 



PARIS. 133 

mander, as if seeking recognition, and tlie excitement of the 
occasion, seems to light up for the instant his pale and wasted 
features. There is another fine painting in this room which 
the narrative of Savigny has made memorable. It is a repre- 
sentation of the wreck of the Medusa Frigate, in the year 
1816. Of nearly two hundred persons who attempted to 
reach Senegal on a raft, only nine survived. The sufferings 
on the raft must indeed have been dreadful; and here in 
this picture^ those horrors are attempted to be represented. 
The livmg are eating the dead ; and every atrocity aggra- 
vated by despair rages in hideous tumult, in the midst of 
the wretched group, afloat on that frail raft. There are 
several of David's historical pictures here in the Louvre; 
but they never excited my admiration. As Reade well 
remarks in his Italy and Naples — ^^ In David's pictures 
there is such a meeting of long arms, and longer legs, as 
if they had flown together from all quarters of the heavens, 
and met together by accident. Leonidas is preparing for 
a pirouette ; the Horatii are measuring the length of 
their arms and legs." 

In the Salon Carre, which immediately precedes the 
Long Gallery, may be noticed the celebrated Conception 
by Murillo, bought three or four years ago by Louis 
Napoleon, from Marshal Soult's gallery, for over a hun- 
dred thousand dollars. It is a glorious conception of this 
great painter — a perfect miracle of female loveliness, with 
an expression truly divine. In the Long Gallery are col- 
lected, an immense number of paintings of the Italian, 
Flemish, and French Schools; and when it is mentioned 
that this gallery is over thirteen hundred feet long, and 
nearly fifty feet in breadth, with both sides covered with 
paintings, some idea may be formed of the extent and 

M 



134 .FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

variety of the collection. But perhaps among all the 
numerous Halls of Statuary, Paintings, and memorials of 
distinguished Sovereigns — none possess more interest than 
the ^^ Salle de FEmpereur/' displaying on its frescoed ceil- 
ing, the name of Napoleon, and numerous emblems 
expressive of glory, the progress of the arts and sciences 
under his reign. Here are preserved the memorials of 
the great Captain ; his uniform coat worn at the battle of 
Marengo, the sword he carried when First Consul — the 
dresses worn on state occasions, and the pocket h'andker- 
chief used by him on his death bed. 

The Egyptian Saloon is one of the most interesting in 
the world; and next to the collection at Berlin, the largest. 
Here may be seen articles, that were in all probability, in 
use in the days of Deborah, and Barak, of Necho, and Ne- 
buchadnezzar. I noticed particularly a funeral crown 
made with rushes, as perfect as the first day it was first 
constructed by the mourner, who some three thousand years 
ago attended the burial of an Egyptian brother. In another 
compartment, may be noticed a letter from Appolonius to 
Ptolemy. Not far from this, near a, window, the perfect 
plaster cast, taken either from the face of a dead or living 
Egyptian, who trod the streets of Thebes, when Moses was 
on earth. But this hurried description must suffice for 
the Louvre. Preposterous as it may appear, it is a positive 
relief to the stimulated senses, to quit exhibitions, of such 
an overwhelming extent. It is what Thompson in allu- 
sion to living beauty, calls "a soul-distracting view/^ or 
the influence is perhaps more powerfully described by 
Byron in Childe Harold, when he speaks of the heart, 
being dazzled and drunk with beauty, until it reels with its 
own fulness. 



PARIS. 135 

Leaving the Louvre, let us pass out of the Place du 
Carrousel again into the Rue de Rivoli, and retracing our 
steps by the Tuileries Gardens, with the spacious Hotel 
des Finances, and de la Marine, on the opposite side, we 
soon find ourselves standing in the Place de la Concorde — 
an immense open space between the gardens of the Tuile- 
ries, and the Champs Ii.lysees. This Square is surrounded 
by allegorical figures of the chief provincial cities of 
France ; and in its centre rises the Obelisk, that the great 
Sesostris erected in front of the magnificent Temple of 
Thebes. On each side, throwing their sparkling spray 
high in the air, are those magnificent fountains, that are 
tiot surpassed in beauty, and the appropriateness of their 
allegorical sculpture by any fountains in the world. The 
taste that designed, laid out, and ornamented this noble 
Place, was certainly faultless. No other city' in Europe 
can boast of any square, that will compare with it in point 
of beauty. Looking along through the wide vista between 
the trees in the Tuileries Gardens, you see the dark line 
of the Palace : behind you the magnificent Avenue of the 
Champs Ii.lysees, stretches in an unbroken line to the 
noble Arc de Triomphe. On your right hand facing the 
Tuileries, over the Bridge across the Seine, you have those 
graceful structures the Palace of the Legislative Body, and 
that of its President : on your left, looking down the Eue 
Koyale, is presented a fine view of that graceful edifice La 
Madeleine. Thus, no matter how you turn in this beau- 
tiful Square, the eye is gratified, and rests with compla- 
cency everywhere. And then too, it is an interesting spot 
on account of the historic memories that cling to it, all 
gloomy though they be. Who, as he stands by that Obe- 
lisk in the centre, has not in imagination rolled back the 



136 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

tide of time, and filled the square around him with the 
blood-thirsty, noisy and clamorous crowds, that here so 
often witnessed with exultation, the rapid descent of the 
guillotine axe, during the reign of Terror? And who 
does not conjure up that saddest scene of all, as he looks 
upon the spot, where Louis XYI. and his amiable consort 
met the same fate, that had swept oif so many of their sub- 
jects? Who can help thinking of that desperate struggle 
at the foot of the scaffold, when the poor King fought so 
fiercely with the executioner's fiend-like assistants, as 
they strove rudely to cut off the hair from his head, to 
prepare him the better for his fate. And then, that 
ghastly head, waving in the air, amid the shouts of the 
brutal wretches, sprinkling the royal blood over his 
faithful confessor, who was still on his knees, beside the 
lifeless body of his sovereign. 

The Church of the Madeleine, which is located in the 
Place de la Madeleine, is but a short distance from the 
Place de la Concorde, and you reach it by the Rue Eoyale, 
one of the streets leading out of the Place. This Church, 
architecturally speaking, is one of the finest buildings in 
Paris. Its interior has a brilliancy, which is certainly 
foreign to the object to which it is devoted. All that 
gilding and painting could accomplish, have been lavished 
on the interior adornments of this Temple. In a cupola 
over the Grand Altar, is a vast fresco painting by Zeigler, 
intended to represent the light of Christianity, dispelling 
the darkness of ages. It is allegorical enough for the 
most imaginative German fancy, and introduces Napoleon 
in the foreground in his Imperial robes, close to old Pius 
VII. among a throng of emblematicals of the other sex. 
" Misery," says Trinculo, ^^ acquaints a man with strange 



PARIS. 137 

bed-fellows" — and allegory it appears may deposit at will a 
sinful son of Adam among the serenities of Heaven — not- 
withstanding he deposed the best of Popes, and divorced 
the best of wives. This Church is one of the fashionable 
religious lounges of Paris. On the spot now covered by 
this edifice, was buried Louis XVI. immediately after his 
execution. Napoleon commenced here the Temple of Glory 
after the battle of Jena, professedly as a memorial of the 
Grand Army, but with a secret design of converting it into 
a monument to the victims of the Revolution. 

The Church of San Ptoch, in the Rue St. Honore, is 
one of the most interesting Churches in Paris. It has been 
finished about a century, and is one of the fiishionable 
churches. The pulpit is very imposing, being quite appro- 
priately supported by colossal figures representing the four 
Evangelists. The paintings behind and beside the choir, 
are well worthy the inspection of any lover of the fine arts. 
They are perhaps, among the finest in the world : but tlie 
entombment, representing the devout assistants carrying 
the body of our Lord into the new tomb, is the chief 
attraction of the interior. It is a complete piece of drama- 
tic scenery. The rock, the cave or inner chamber, the 
human forms so finely brought out by the gloom beyond, 
produce an effect which borders on the sublime. But St. 
Roch has associations of an historic interest. Here was 
achieved a conquest which afl'ected the destinies of Europe, 
when the Convention came into collision with the people 
and the National Guards, upon the subject of popular 
representation. The Convention had under their control five 
thousand regular troops — the artillerymen of Paris — and a 
body of volunteers composed of blackguards and cut-throats, 
the remnant of Robespierre's myrmidons. The Conventioii 
m2 / 



138 FOREIGN ETCHINGS.. 

appointed Menou to the command of this force, ordering 
him to enter the several sections, and disarm the National 
Guard. Menou had not the nerve; he failed, and the 
Convention deposed him. Barras was ordered to assume 
the command ; but Barras was no soldier, and he turned to 
his colleagues, and said, " I can name the individual who 
will serve this turn — a dapper young officer from Corsica, 
who knows his duty as a military man too well to compro- 
mise the government by any squeamish scruples.^^ It 
was the young Bonaparte he alluded to — who was invited 
to take command. He accepted, and at once perceived 
that his responsibility lay in defending the whole circuit 
of the Tuileries, and retaining possession of all the bridges, 
to prevent any junction between the armed bands of the 
sections on one side of the Seine, with those on the other. 
To bring about this junction, thirty thousand of the Na- 
tional Guard marched upon the Tuileries from all quarters, 
part from one side of the Seine, part from the other. But 
they were baffled at every point by the regular troops 
placed by Bonaparte, for the protection of the Avenues 
leading to the Palace. The first shot was fired at the top 
of the street,,E,ue Dauphin, facing the Church of St. Roch. 
About two hundred of the National Guard were drawn up 
on the steps, leading from the pavement to the door of this 
Church. One single discharge brought on a general con- 
flict. The National Guard had not a single piece of 
artillery. Bonaparte nearly two hundred pieces. The 
sequel is well known. In less than an hour the assailants 
were overwhelmed in all directions. This led to the ap- 
pointment of the hitherto obscure and poverty stricken 
young Corsican to the chief command, and was his first step 
towards greatness. The marks of the grape and cannister, 



PARIS. 139 

discharged on that eventful morning, may still be seen on 
the front of this Church. While speaking af the churches 
of Paris, let no one forget to visit that memorable old 
Church outside the walls, the world-renowned Church of 
St. Denis. It was in the vaults of this Church, the royalty 
ef France found a resting place, until their bones were 
disturbed by the Yandals of the Revolution. Paris has 
nothing to display in comparison with the adornments of 
this small, but marvellous temple. It is some six miles 
outside the walls of Paris, and was founded by Pepin, 
but finished and consecrated by his more illustrious son. 
Charlemagne. There are as it were two Churches here, 
one level with the ground, and one beneath it, the latter 
being as ancient as Dagobert and Charlemagne — the for- 
mer having been raised over the first structure by Louis 
IX. The stained glass of the windows of this old Church, 
is among the finest in Europe. Its effulgence tinges the 
sunbeam with every imaginable variety of color, and 
fills the holy place with radiance. As the bright luminary 
that rules the day, runs his course, the groined roof and 
clustered columns of the ancient pile glow in amber, 
violet, emerald and ruby hues — followed by a rich combi- 
nation of silver, crimson, and azure tints, the beaming 
lustre of which darts from aisle to nave, from nave to tran- 
sept, glows around the altar, and like a mystic halo from 
on high^ resting within the choir, 

" Fills the air around with beauty." 

The fact of this stained glass being the work of modern 
times, hardly thirty years old, refutes the common asser- 
tion, that this beautiful art is comparatively lost. The 
skill whose cunning fingers -wrought these splendid adorn- 



140 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

ments, miglit compass designs of any magnitude^ either in 
the illumination of tracery^ or the complicated groupings 
of History, without receding from the point of excellence 
attained by the most renowned masters. Indeed it may 
well be questioned, whether the annealing of glass in the 
age of Albert Durer, was comparable to those processes in 
modern chemistry, of which the latest glass-stainers have 
been enabled to avail themselves. 

The Oriflamme, or sacred banner of Clovis, is suspended 
from an eminence at the eastern extremity of this venera- 
ble edifice, behind the High Altar. It is of a deep scarlet 
color, and tradition assigns the age of thirteen hundred 
and seventy years to this old silken remnant of monastic 
superstition and imposition. The monks of the old Abbey 
Church were in the habit of assuring the people that this 
banner was brought to the Abbey by an angel, about the 
period of the conversion to Christianity of old King Clovis. 
It was called Oriflamme from the representation of flames 
worked in golden threads upon the silk. The chapels 
above are shrines profusely adorned with embellishments 
of art, and glittering with wealth and magnificence. But 
beneath their stone pavements are the tombs of three 
dynasties of kings. 

" A thousand years of silenced factions sleep;" 

These chapels underneath have well been called the Chro- 
nicles of France and Europe — stone and marble editions 
of the Book of French Kings and Queens, Counsellors, 
Warriors, Heroes, and Philosophers. It is hardly possible 
to make the circuit of these subterranean recesses, without 
stumbling on prostrate royalty, or on some marble form, 
whose prototype in the days of Chivalry and the Crusades, 
waged battle with the mailed knight, encountered the 



PARIS. 141 

scimetar of tlie Saracen^ or charged the English bowmen 
at Cressy, Poictiers, or Agincourt. The sculpture of some 
of the cenotaphs is exquisite, and the recumbent statues 
beautiful. In one of the recesses is a statue of Marie 
Antoinette in a kneeling posture, considered a perfect like- 
ness of that unfortunate princess. Brazen doors open into 
the royal vault, now containing eight cof&ns, in which 
are the remains of Louis XVI. and his Queen, Louis XVIII. 
and other members of this branch of the royal family. 
The remains of the greatest monarch of them all, Napoleon, 
rest near the banks of the Seine, under the dome of the 
Hotel des Invalides, ^^in the midst of the people that he 
loved so well.'^ There is ample daylight in the crypts be- 
neath St. Denis, and every thing is seen to the best advan- 
tage. It is just the spot where Richard II. might have told 

"Sad stories of the death of Kings: — 
How some have been depos'd, some slain in war, 
Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd, 
Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping killed." 



CHAPTER IX, 

JOURNEY FROM PARIS TO CHAMONIX. 

Departure from Paris — Macon — Geneva — Ride to Chamonix— ' 
Mer'de Glace — The Source oi the Arveiron — Mont Blanc. 

It was at early dawn on a summer morning tliat we left- 
Paris^ by the Lyons railway for Macon. -There is nothing 
peculiarly striking about the scenery between Paris and 
Macon. The country is generally level; and with a few 
exceptions^ the towns through which you pass have no 
particular interest. We caught a passing glimpse of the 
picturesque towers of the old Cathedral of Sens^ where 
Thomas Becket found a sanctuary^ when he fled from 
the wrath of Henry, of England : and we saw for a mo- 
ment; at Dijon, the gloomy looking front of what was once 
the Palace of the celebrated Dukes of Burgundy, The 
low lying hills to the north and south of Dijon, were 
pointed out to us as the famous range, whose vineyards 
produce the delicious wine, that bears the name of this 
once proud Duchy. Now and then, we passed through 
quaint old towns, with their fantastic gables, grim looking 
steeples and towers^ and furnishing at intervals, a rapid 
glance along the vista of some ancient street, with its red 
tiled houses, and narrow time-worn footways. Along 
through the open country, might be seen the picturesque 
looking windmills, swinging their huge arms lazily around : 
or some venerable chateau peeping out from the leafy 
shelter of ancestral trees. We arrived at Macon, some 



DEPARTURE FROM PARIS. 143 

three hundred miles from Paris, late In the afternoon. It 
is a forlorn old town, located on the banks of the Saone, 
which is spanned here by a bridge of twelve arches. Nor 
did the discomforts of the jBlthiest Inn to be met with in 
Europe, assist in changing for the better our first impres- 
sions of its misery and wretchedness. Macon is the seat 
of a considerable trade in wine, and gives name to a pecu- 
liar kind, both red and white, much admired by French- 
men; but to an uncultivated taste, smacking very much 
of the sharpness of the best vinegar. At five the next 
morning, we were off in the diligence for Geneva. We 
started at a dashing pace over the Bridge, stopping to 
breakfast at a miserable village, some twenty miles from 
Macon, where sour wine, omelettes reeking with oil, and 
chickens that appeared to have died of a slow decline, were 
rather revolting, even to a traveler's appetite, made still 
more keen by the fresh morning air. The scenery along 
the first part of the road was monotonous and tame in the 
extreme ; but towards noon we had the magnificent range of 
the Jura towering above us, and were soon in the midst of 
the glorious scenery of its mountain passes. .The road over 
the Jura is constructed in the most substantial manner, and 
all along protected at the sides. As we passed over some 
of the loftier eminences, troops of mountain girls, be- 
sieged the sides of the diligence with offerings of Alpine 
flowers^ for which of course, they expected and received 
a few sous in return. About three o'clock, we caught 
sight of the long range of the snow-covered summits of the 
Oberland Alps, and a short time afterwards the magnifi- 
cent dome of Mont Blanc appeared, rising cold and white 
against the sky. At first the appearance was that of a 
huge white cloud; but remaining stationary, with no 



144 rORElGN ETCHINGS. 

alteration of its shape, we soon discovered that it was the 
snowy top of the monarch of mountains. There was 
nothing very striking in the appearance it first presented ; 
but when the descending sun emerged from a heavy bank 
of clouds, and threw his parting rays full upon the sum- 
mit, the mountain stood forth in all its beauty. Notliing 
could have been more magnificent; for a wMle it appeared 
like a huge dome of solid silver, and we felt the truth of 
those lines of the poet : 

" Mighty Mont Blanc, thou wert to me 
That moment, with thy brow in heaven, 

As sure a sign of Deity 
As e'er to mortal gaze was given." 

It was late in tlie evening when we rattled into Geneva; 
but late as it was, we could hardly pass on over the long 
bridge, for the crowds of people that were thronging it. It 
had been a fete day, and the streets were still thronged 
with, gay crowds. The next morning from one of the 
balconies of ^'The Hotel des Bergues," we had a full 
view of Mont Blanc, some fifty miles away. An agreeable 
impression is produced by the cleanliness and comfort 
everywhere visible. The beauty of the Quays whicli 
border the Lake and the Rhone, and the elegance of the 
private edifices cannot be surpassed in any city on the 
continent. We spent Sunday in Geneva ; but I am sure 
that John Calvin would not know bis favorite city. The 
observance of the Sabbath is no more attended to in 
here, than in Paris. Workmen were busily engaged on 
some of the new buildings going up along the Quay, while 
the bustle and stir of the streets, where open shops dis- 
played their stores, indicated that Sunday was as much of 
a festive day, as at Paris. 



GENEVA. 145 

The modern portion of Geneva displays considerable 
architectural taste; but the old town has very little to 
boast of. The history of tbe Canton does not present many 
points of interest. It had an early origin, as it is supposed 
to have been mentioned by Cassar in his Commentaries. 
There can be no question that the E,omans made conside- 
rable sojourn here, from the fact, that constantly medals 
are being found of Roman origin, and other memorials of 
that once powerful nation. It was in the fifth century that 
Christianity was introduced. It then formed part of the 
great Burgundian kingdom, and was a portion of the 
Germanic empire. After various efforts to seize the sove- 
reignty by different powerful Lords, the Counts of Savoy 
at last acquired an ascendancy, and for a long time kept it. 
At the Reformation, the influence of that House declined, 
and was finally entirely destroyed under Calvin. Calvin 
settled in Geneva about the middle of the sixteenth cen- 
tury, and during a twenty-eight years' residence, consoli- 
dated, not without some tyranny and persecution, and a 
proportionate amount of resistance, the new social edifice. 
In the latter part of the same century, the town concluded 
an alliance with Zurich and Berne, and for a long time 
was the great Protestant asylum for refugees from France, 
Italy, and England. The House of Savoy raised a great 
army in the early part of the next century^ and advanced 
upon Geneva. France encouraged Geneva, and with Berne 
carried on a war, which covered the little confederacy 
with glory and desolation. During the political upheavings 
caused .by the French Revolution, the Canton fell under 
French rule. But when the result of the battle of Waterloo 
had shattered forever the power of Napoleon, she declared 
herself a Republic^ and her independence was recognized 



146 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

in the Congress of Vienna. At the present time, the 
government of the Canton is administered by a Council 
of State, composed of seven members elected by the suf- 
frages of the citizens. The legislative power is in the 
hands of ninety-three deputies, also elected by the people. 
The birth place of Kousseau, possesses great attractions 
from its natural surroundings, and we should have loved 
to explore ail the interesting localities within the limits 
of the city itself : but it was in the latter part of August, 
and we were anxious to visit the Alpine Eegion before the 
advance of the season should make such a visit disagree- 
able. We spent, therefore, but one day in Geneva, and 
the morning after, found us on our way to Chamonix, 
which is some fifty miles distant. The scenery along 
this road is exceedingly fine, and might be enjoyed, 
were it not for the disgusting cases of goitre, and the 
numerous cretins, who lay basking at the doors of the 
houses in the villages you pass. Halting at the old town 
of Bonneville, a small place on the banks of the Arve, I 
took occasion to visit the Court House, where a trial for 
larceny was on. The Court occupied the third story room 
of a most wretched looking brick structure. A boy of 
about fourteen was in the prisoner's box, who seemed to 
be well guarded by armed officials, answering to our con- 
stables, there being no less than four in his immediate vici- 
nity. The array of Judges on the Bench, did not present 
a very powerful intellectual display. The officer answer- 
ing to our Prosecuting Attorney, arrayed in a small black 
cap, and sadly dirty gown of the same color, occupied a 
seat near the Tribunal facing the prisoner. When the 
cause was called, he rose and addressed the President 
Judge, and proceeded to read the accusation in a very hur- 



RIDE TO CHAMONIX. 147 

ried manner. This accusation set forth a series of trifling 
depredations committed by the prisoner at the bar — ending 
with the larceny of a watch. A half dozen witnesses were 
examined, and after some very sharp interrogatories put 
the prisoner by the Court, he was found guilty and sen- 
tenced to the chain-gang in the streets of Bonneville for 
three years. There was no counsel for the prisoner, and 
the prosecutor .seemed to have it all his own way. As we 
passed through the streets of Bonneville, I noticed the 
poor boy in the midst of the chain gang, with an iron ball 
to his leg. I had only seen him condemned but half an 
hour before. We passed through Cluses, a modern look- 
ing town, celebrated as the manufactory of those exquisite 
musical boxes and watch wheels^ for which Geneva is so 
famous. Shortly after leaving Cluses, we had a fine sight 
of the Mole, a Snowdon-like hill, three thousand feet high, 
which we had seen before from Geneva. Now we were 
close to the river Arve — now traversing a cultivated level, 
round which the stream curves to the other side of the 
valley — now mounting the shoulder of a hill, or skirting 
the base of some frowning cliff. At Sallanches, the road 
from thence to Chamonix becomes narrow and difficult, 
and we were forced to leave our comfortable convey- 
ance behind us, and take to the uncomfortable little 
two-horse cars that are built specially to traverse the 
roughness of the remainder of the road. At the Bridge 
crossing the Arve at Sallanches, we obtained glorious views 
of the snow-covered summit of Mont Blanc. It looked as 
if an half hour's walk would have enabled us to reach it ; 
and yet it was sixteen miles away — so deceptive is distance 
in these Alpine regions. Shortly after leaving Servoz, 
you come to the most difficult part of the ascent, rugged 



14S FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

and rocky, commanding some grand riews of deep gorges^ 
dark with pine woods, and of precipitous mountain ridges 
bristling with their rocky battlements in the distance. On 
leaving this narrow and savage pass, we entered the valley 
of Chamonis, just as evening was drawing a cnrtain over 
the earthi The road takes a northeasterly direction under 
the base of Mont Blanc, and in the distance we caught 
sight of the five glaciers which descend into the very plain. 
The valley of Chamonix is about fifteen miles in length, 
traversed by the rapid and turbid stream of the Arve. We 
found most excellent quarters at the Koyal Union Hotel, 
and those comforts which are so agreeable to the traveler, 
who has endured the fatigues of such a rough journey as 
that from Geneva to Chamonix. The next morning, look- 
ing directly up to the summit of Mont Blanc, from my 
chamber window, I could scarcely believe that it would re- 
quire eighteen hours steady climbing to reach the top. From 
the valley it looks as if half an hour might accomplish it. 
At noon, while looking at some adventurers, who had 
started the day before to make the ascent, I began to 
get a more perfect realization of the immense height of 
the mountain. They had just reached the summit, and 
had turned to descend, but with a telescope of considerable 
power, you could just discern three dark spots about the 
size of moles, moving down the snow-covered side of the 
mountain. The second morning after our arrival, we 
started at an early hour for an excursion to the Mer de 
Grlace. It is attained by an ascent of some three thousand 
feet above the level of the valley, and which some three 
hours' climbing on the part of your trusty mules enables 
you to reach. It is exceedingly steep in some parts, but 
Bot the least difficult. A gradual ascent, bordered on each 



THE MER DE GLACE. 149 

hand by masses of rock detached from the mountain sides, 
leads to the fountain of Claudine of Chamonix; where, in 
the Opera of "Linda/' she is supposed to have first seen 
her lover. During the ascent, we had through the open 
spaces in the forest, an almost uninterrupted view of 
Chamonix, with its different villages surrounded by trees 
and cornfields on the banks of the Arve; but on arriving 
at Montanvert the scene changes entirely. Instead of a 
fertile plain, you find yourself on the brink of a preci- 
pice, hanging over a scene worthy of the Arctic regions, 
a large valley of eternal ice and snow. The Mer de Glace, 
is full fifty-four miles long, and in some places nearly 
three wide. The thickness or depth of the glacier varies 
according to the surface : the average is from eighty 
to one hundred feet; but in some places owing to the 
hollows of the rocks beneath, it may be as much as 
four or five bunded. This great ice river, if it may 
be so called, is formed from two streams that pour 
forth from difi"erent sources in the higher Alps. The 
origin of glaciers is from the accumulation of snow in the 
upper valleys. In the spring and summer these masses 
become saturated during the day with rain water, or 
imbibe the moisture of their exterior, which has been 
liquified by the rays of the sun. During night, or on 
the approach of winter, the remnant is frozen into a mass 
of porous ice, which is again covered by a coating of snow 
in the next winter, and thus by degrees In the progress 
of ages, these immense glaciers have been formed. We 
descended to the level of the glacier, after having rested at 
the Montanvert for a short space. When you arrive upon 
it, the appearance is for all the world, as if by some magic 
spell, a raging, roaring torrent rushing headlong in itg 
n2 



150 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

course, had been arrested in mid-career by tbe breatb of 
" The Ice King/' And yet still as the Glacier appears to 
human vision^ that vast icy bed is in continual motion, 
moving downward towards the valley, into which it intrudes 
some considerable distance. It moves on with a steady 
flow, although no eye sees its motion ; bat from day to 
day, and year to year, the secret silent cause, whatever it 
may be, produces the certain slow effect. The avalanche 
feeds it, and swells its flowing tide, and at night when the 
mountain life stands almost still — when its countless little 
veins are frozen up, and the murmur of its thousand 
rills is hushed to rest — the glacier's giant pulse alone beats 
heavily and slow. Nothing is more curious than the 
transportation of immense masses of rock into the valley, 
By this constant movement of the glacier : and at the foot 
of the Mer de Grlace, known as the Glacier des Bois, may be 
seen huge masses of rock, that have been thus strangely 
brought into the valley by the unseen, but never ceasing 
motion. Professor Forbes, who was lost to science all too 
soon, speaking of this motion, and the calculations that have 
made upon the time which it takes to bring these huge 
masses from the higher Alps, most beautifully says : 

"A glacier is an endless scroll, a stream of time, upon 
whose stainless ground is engraven the succession of events, 
whose dates far transcend the memory of living man. At 
the usual rate of descent, a rock which fell upon a high 
glacier two hundred years ago, may only just now have 
reached its final resting-place in the lower country: and 
a block larger than the largest of Egyptian obelisks, 
may occupy the time of six generations of men in its 
descent, before it is laid low in the common grave of its 
predecessors." When the glacier presses its terrific plough- 



THE ARVEIRON. 151 

share far into tlie valley, it turns up the soil, and wrinkles 
in advance the green sNvard of the meadows — brings 
among the jBelds the blasts of winter, overthrowing trees 
and houses in its tremendous progress. It would be impos- 
sible fully to describe the grand wildness of the scenery 
surrounding this glacier. Beneath your feet — far up amid 
the eternal snows — below you, where the heat of the valley 
has at last checked the onward progress of the glacier, 
rise the frozen waves of the Mer de Glace, some as high 
as twenty and thirty feet. Around, on all sides, ten and 
twelve thousand feet above the level of the sea, the needle 
shaped rocks, that give such grand effect to the scenery of 
the valley, are piercing the skies. On the left you have 
the Aiguille du Dru, behind it is the Aiguille Verte, On 
the right the Aiguille du Moine, and the Aiguille du 
Bochard — around extends a rampart of colossal rocks, 
whose crumbling summits attest the influence of many 
thousand seasons, and whose sterile grandeur has an impos- 
ing effect upon the mind. Our descent from the Mont- 
anvert was more rapid than our ascent, for in two hours 
we had reached without much fatigue our hotel. That same 
evening we visited the source of the Arveiron, a rapid 
torrent, which issues from a vault of ice under the extre- 
mity of the Glacier des Bois, the lower part of the Mer 
de Glace. This remarkable source is one of the finest 
sights in Chamonix. We soon reached the moraines of 
rock and stone brought down from the mountain in the 
course of ages^ by the action of the glacier. Then we 
clambered over these immense deposits to the edge of the 
ice which rises like a huge wall, and listened in the 
stillness of the evening to the straining and crushing that 
came from the mighty mass above. The Arveiron here 



152 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

rushes from three low arches at the foot of a dark blue 
cliff of ice^ turbid and foaming : and as the eye peers into 
those darksome vaults^ the imagination begins to picture 
the terrible aspect of the interior. AYe crept as near as 
the stream would permit, and leaned over the rocky ram- 
part to gaze and listen. The whole scene around was of 
the most impressive character. The water here rushes 
swiftly and with great noise from its source deep in the 
heart of the glacier. At times the volume is largely 
increased; and often the sudden checking of this stream 
has been the cause of terrible devastation. Some years 
agOj the arches at the foot of the glacier being worn 
by the water fell in, and the fragments becoming frozen, 
dammed up the glacier river. The waters thus impeded, 
accumulated rapidly, until at a point many hundred feet 
above the former vent, they burst through in a tremendous 
cataract, and with a deafening roar, tumbling headlong 
upon the glacier, swept dwellings, trees, and fences 
away before it, for many miles along the valley. If the 
action of one glacier could produce such consequences, 
what might not be the devastation if the whole four hun- 
dred, large and small, should be placed in a like position. 
Taking the glaciers as from three to twelve miles long upon 
an average, one to four miles wide, and from one to nine 
hundred thick; the calculation has been made, that about 
thirty millions of cubic fathoms of ice, are slowly trans- 
ported down the mountain ravines every year. Looking 
up at the huge arches, lumps of stone large and small, 
were continually falling — now plunging into the stream,, 
now clattering into the hollows of the moraines, showing 
the ceaseless movement of the glacier. It was rather a 
warm evening, but the vicinity of this huge mass of ice, 
produced a cool descending current of air, and it became 



ASCENTS OF MONT BLANC. 153 

quite chilly. How striking too, was tlie contrast in view 
— a cataract of ice barred apparently by a dam of rocks — 
a torrent rusting from beneatb — a waterfall tumbling in 
clouds of spray from above. Within a few feet of the 
frozen mass, grass was growing, with fir trees bordering it, 
until lost behind the bend towards Montanvert. It was in 
truth, winter frowning in the face of summer to resent the 
intrusion into his territory — yet held in check by her warm 
and glowing breath. Far in the distance looking upward 
along the glacier, rose the tall Aiguilles, with their lofty 
pinnacles, tipped with the roseate rays of the sunlight 
which had long left the valley. It was one of those sights, 
once seen, never to be forgotten. 

The season being favorable, very little snow having fallen, 
made the ascent to Mont Blanc, comparatively an easy 
matter. In consequence some twenty or thirty ascents 
were made during the months of July and August. Dur- 
ing our short stay at Chamouix, some four were made, 
and the week before our arrival, a young and ambitious 
Englishwoman dared the enterprise; but much to the 
trouble and disgust of the guides, who were compelled to 
carry her up the most difficult passes. One of them told 
me, ''My lady had more spirit than strength, and more ef- 
frontery than either. " Most of those who effected the ascent 
while we were at Chamonix, suffered severely afterwards 
from inflammation of the eyes, produced by the snow 
dazzle : and our curiosity could not be gratified at the 
expense of so severe a penalty. Neither is the prospect 
from its summit any finer than that afi'orded by numerous 
other and more accessible elevations in Switzerland. The 
height is so great that objects in the plain appear envel- 
loped in a haze — its chief merit is said to be, in the 
perfect insight afi'orded into the structure of all the highest 



154 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

Alps, wliose pinnacles it places under tlie view of the 
observer. 

The summit of Mont Blanc, which is nearly fifteen 
thousand feet above the level of the sea, is, I was informed 
by one of those who had accomplished the ascent, but a 
very narrow ridge, hardly wide enough for two persons to 
walk abreast, with a gentle slope on each side. The diffi- 
culty in the ascent commences after leaving the ridge of 
rocks known as the Grand Mulcts, where the adventurers 
rest for the night. About five hours from this spot, which 
is left very early in the morning, they encounter the Mur 
de la Cote. This is an almost perpendicular wall of ice, 
nearly three hundred feet high, and bordered on the left 
by an awful precipice. Here the guides are compelled to 
cut a footing for every step in the ice. Much depends 
now upon the firmness of nerve displayed, and the fact that 
so very few fatal accidents have happened among the 
numerous ascents, speaks well both for the nerves of the 
adventurer, and the skill of the Guides. Chamonix, 
though certainly one of the most interesting spots in Swit- 
zerland, is not a place where the tourist loves to linger 
long. Hemmed in by its huge barriers of rock, it seems 
as if shut out from the world, and once having made all 
the excursions in the vicinity, life in the valley becomes 
tiresome and monotonous in the extreme. In consequence 
tourists linger but a few days and are off for more varied 
and interesting scenes^ in localities not so isolated. 



CHAPTER X. 

JOURNEY FROM CHAMONIX TO VEVAY. 

Departure from Chamonix — Lake Leman and its shores — Vevay — 
Visit to Castle Chillon. 

We returned to Geneva from Cliamonlx, by the same 
road we had travelled a few days before, and early the 
next morning were on the Steamer Helvetia, on our way 
to Vevay at the upper part of Lake Leman, Our boat 
first slackened speed, opposite the quaint looking town of 
Coppet. Upon the heights above the town, stands a vene- 
rable Chateau. It once sheltered beneath its roof, the 
Minister Neckar, whose financial ability, great as it was, 
could not save France from the dreadful retribution that 
awaited her. In the little Church — whose picturesque 
steeple may be seen just beyond the Chateau — he is 
buried, and by his side reposes all that was mortal of his 
more celebrated daughter, Madame de Stael, whose genius 
still throws a charm over French literature. Upon leav- 
ing Coppet, the scenery of the Lake begins to open more 
beautifully. Far on the right, rise the summits of the 
mountains of Savoy, with a girdle of clouds encompassing 
their peaks — on the left, the less lofty, but quite pictur- 
esque chain of the Jura, with here and there vineyards 
stretching' down the slopes, and country seats, with gar- 
dens gorgeous with many-hued flowers, reaching down to 
the very borders of the Lake. And there, built partly 
along the bank of the Lake, and partly on a terraced hill, 



156 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

is tlie ancient town of Njon. It was once a Roman 
Colony, and still shows traces of the old military wall, 
built by tlie colony sent by tlie first Caesar to lay 
the foundations of a town. In the remote and vapory 
distance is seen across the Lake, the old town of Thonon, 
the ancient capital of Chablais, whose whitened walls con- 
trast with the sombre verdure of the surrounding hills. 
Passing Nyon, we are at the extremity of the Little Lake 
as it is called, and you can see the steeples and turrets of 
G-eneva, shining like a luminous point in the extreme dis- 
tance. We pass between a small island and a town. It 
is the little town of Eolle, and the small white monument 
you see in the centre of the island, is erected to the me- 
mory of General Harpe, a native of Rolle, and it thus 
signalizes its gratitude for the glory he has reflected by 
his deeds upon his native place. What magnificent 
scenery now opens before us ! The high mountains, whose 
base is washed by the blue waters of the Lake, now take 
sharper outlines in the landscape. They form round the 
Gulf of Thonon a verdant belt, deepened here and there 
by dense forests. Now you may observe the group of the 
Dents d'Oche, with brows white with eternal snow, rising 
above the left bank like an abrupt wall, and projecting 
their peaks obliquely into the azure sky. Presently Lau- 
sanne perched half way up the hill, comes into view } the 
spires of its ancient Cathedral forming a prominent point in 
the picture. The amphitheatre formed by the slopes that 
descend from the town to the borders of the Lake, are 
covered with the rich green of vineyards, giving a very 
beautiful effect, as seen from the water. It was in this 
place Gibbon wrote his " Decline and Fall of the Roman 
Empire," and the site of the grotto^ in which most of this 



LAKE LEMAN. 157 

charming work was written^ is now covered by tlie build- 
ings belonging to the Hotel Gibbon. A few miles far- 
ther on^ and we find ourselves opposite Yevay. Embarking 
in the wide boat that plays the part of a water omnibus 
to convey passengers to the landing, we were soon at the 
stone stairs, leading directly up to the picturesque garden 
of the Hotel of the Three Crowns — decidedly the best 
arranged and most comfortable Hotel in Europe. That 
evening the scene presented in the garden on the Lake, 
was romantic in the extreme. The placid Leman looked 
as smooth and bright as a mirror ; and the full moon was 
reflected far down in its quiet depths. The sound of 
sweet music, keeping time to the measured dash of the 
oar, was ever and anon delighting the ear^ as it was borne 
to us over the waters, sounding marvellously sweet. 
Shaded in misty outlines silvered in the moonlight, rose 
the snow-capped mountains, seeming like giant sentinels 
to guard the entrance to the Lake. Vevay is one of the 
principal towns in the Canton of Yaud, and is a place of 
considerable importance. It has a very fair trade; its 
position rendering it the natural entrepot of the various 
indigenous commodities, and the centre of the commerce 
between the Cantons of Yaud,'Freibourg, Berne, Geneva 
and Chablais. Beneath the pavement of its old Church of 
St. Martin, are buried the regicides Ludlow and Brough- 
ton, who in this little town, after many hair-breadth 
escapes, at last found refuge from the perils to which they 
were exposed at the Restoration. Ludlow was one of the 
Judges of Charles I. and Broughton was the person who 
read to him his death warrant. 

The next morning after our arrival, we hired a boat at 
the stairs, for a row to the far-famed Castle of Chillon. 
o 



158 POREIGN ETCHINGS. 

The morning was indeed beautiful; a gentle breeze just 
rippling tlie surface of tlie Lake. On one side of us were 
the rich green slopes that rise so gracefully behind the 
little town of Yevay ; while on the other, the bold and 
lofty crags of the mountains were reflected far down in 
the clear blue waters of the Lake. Before us, towards 
Castle Chillon, and at the entrance of the Lake into 
the valley, the peaks of the mountains, white with eter. 
nal snows, gave quite a picturesque appearance to the 
scene. As our boat sped on, we passed the Tour de Peilz, 
half a mile to the east of Yevay, presenting a bold front 
to the Lake, with its ancient walls, and queer looking 
chateau. And there too, high up on the slope of the 
mountain, that rears its indented crags high above, and 
surrounded by vineyards rich with verdure, nestles the 
pretty Village of Clarens, whose name will live as long as 
the French language, in association with the impassioned 
scenes of the Nouvelle Heloise, and those lines of Byron's. 

" Clarens ! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod — 
Undying Loves, virho here ascends a throne 
To which the steps are mountains." 

And now we are nearing the world-renowned Castle of 
Chillon. This Castle is situated in the centre of a semi- 
circle formed at the base of richly wooded slopes — having 
the Tower of Villeneuve at one extremity, and a small but 
picturesque Swiss Chalet at the other. The Castle itself 
is seated on the right of a defile, upon an isolated rock in 
the midst of the waters. On the front of the structure, 
towards the Lake, may be seen in huge letters. Liberie 
Patrie; "a noble device,^^ as some traveller remarks, 
"when properly understood, but which had better be trea- 
sured in the heart's core, than scrawled on walls.'^ We 



CASTLE OF CHILLON. 159 

landed at a narrow stairway of stone, which led to a small 
covered passage conducting to the interior of the court-yard 
of the Castle. Here we encountered a huge figure, round 
as a tun, who certainly would have been taken by the an- 
cients, as an embodiment of Bacchus. He desired us to 
wait a moment, when his wife would conduct us through 
the Gastle. Presently a smart, tidy-looking female, with 
a pair of sharp, quick grey eyes^ shaded by the broad rim 
of a tasteful Swiss hat, offered to conduct us. Passing on 
with our guide^ who talked incessantly, we descended 
some stone steps which led down into a vaulted space, sup- 
ported by several stone pillars, connected together by 
admirably turned arches, and lighted by small narrow 
windows on the side next the Lake. This was once the 
old Guard Chamber of the Castle. Then came a dark 
Hall_, where the light was so scant, we were forced to 
grope our way over the uneven floor, which like the 
landward wall, is composed of massive rock. Into this 
place had once been crowded hundreds of Jews, and we 
felt, for we could hardly be said to see, the ledge of rock, 
on which a thousand or more had been strangled in one 
day for the good of the Church. Above we could just 
discern the outline of the beam, from whose strong sup- 
port had dangled many a poor wretch, who, after being 
condemned in the Judgment Hall above, was brought down 
that dark stairway, to expiate his doom here. That half 
walled-up space on the side next the Lake, indicates 
where once was the opening through which their mutilated 
bodies were launched into the water, that rolls, 

"A thousand feet in depth below." 
But soon we were standing within 

" Chillon's dungeon deep and old." 



160 rOREIGtN El-CHINGS. 

the dungeon of Bonnivard. Here the heroic defender of 
Genevan liberty languished siz years chained to a pillar. 
It looked not unlike^ a chapel, with its groined roof and 
central row of columns, "massy and grey/^ Its light was 
that of a pleasant twilight. Two or three narrow slits, 
high up the wall, admitted the rays which had a greenish 
hue from the reflection of the waters of the Lake. The 
effect was rather heightened by the light breeze, which 
kept flapping the huge leaf of some aquatic plant directly 
opposite "the Martyr's Pillar." How sweet the rays of 
sunlight must have been to the Prior of St. Victor ! and 
how often during the long hours of his six years' confine- 
ment, must his eyes have turned towards these narrow 
windows as the bright rays streamed in upon his dungeon 
floor. The iron ring still remains in the pillar to which 
he was chained, and we saw in the stone floor, where 

" His very footsteps had left a trace, 

Worn, as if the cold pavement were a sod." 

Upon this Pillar, one may read the names of Byron, 
Leigh Hunt, and other celebrities. This dungeon, though 
many others suff'ered there, had its one great captive 
— the illustrious Bonnivard, and his image stands out 
boldly from amongst them all. The rooms above had 
their thousand sufi'erers, and were suggestive of cruel 
scenes. Of their names few remain, although the instru- 
ments on which they were racked and torn to pieces, still 
are there. Emerging from this prison, we entered the 
spacious apartment just above them, which evidently had 
once been the Hall of Torture, for here with the rust and 
stain of centuries upon it, still stands the gaunt and grim 
apparatus of the Inquisition. In the middle of the room 



CASTLE OP CHILLON. 161 

was a massive beam, reacliing from the floor to the ceiling 
with a strong pulley at the top. This was the '^ Corda," 
the queen of torment, as it has been called. The person 
who endured this torture was suspended by his hands from 
the pulley, heavy weights were fastened to his feet, and 
when all was ready, he was slowly hoisted to some dis- 
tance, and then suddenly dropped. This always dislocated 
the arms, and sometimes the weight was so great, that the 
arms were torn from the body. Hot irons were often 
affixed to the soles of the feet, while they hung sus- 
pended, and the scorching marks of the fire are still 
plainly visible on the pillar, where the poor sufferers had 
hung. In one of the apartments, we were shown a recess 
in the wall, with a trap door at the bottom. The person 
accused of heresy was made to kneel on a trap door before 
an image of the Virgin placed in this very recess. To 
prevent the possibility of apostacy — the moment the con- 
fession was made, the bolt was drawn, and the poor wretch 
lay a mangled corpse on the rocks below. This Castle 
was built as early as the year 1238, and it was at once the 
Boulevard and defence of the state. In 1733 it was con- 
verted into a state prison, and retained this character 
the conclusion of the century. It is now a depot of arms 
and munitions, and occasionally serves for a military 
guard-house. 



o2 



GHAPTER XI. 

JOURNEY FROM VEVAY TO MAYENCE. 

Ride to Berne — Berne — Basle — Strasburg — Baden-Baden — 
Heidelburg — Mayence. • 

We left Vevay in a private conveyance for Berne, and 
Having taken an early start, were fortunate enough to 
reach the summit of the steep and long hill, a few miles 
from Yevay, just as the sun had risen. From it, we 
had a most extensive view of the entire expanse of the 
Lake of Geneva, with the grand Alpine chain, of which 
Mont Blanc forms the centre, in the distance. The dis- 
tinctness of the view in the bright morning light, added 
much to the indescribable beauty of the scene : and I do 
not remember a prospect in Switzerland, that combines so 
much picturesqueness and sublimity, as this from the sum- 
mit of the eTorat. At Bulle, where we halted to dine, 
there was a large fair being held, and the streets were alive 
with people. The array of booths, and the display of all 
kinds of merchandize, with the thronging crowds in the 
Long avenues between the stalls, presented quite a lively 
and stirring scene. The general appearance of the fair, 
was strikingly like some of those wonderful representations 
by the magic pencil of Teniers, that one sees in the G-alle- 
ries — a country fair with singular groupings of peasantry 
in varied costumes, long rows of decorated booths, and 
scenes of joyousness everywhere. Late in the afternoon 
we arrived at our halting place for the night; the town of 



_BERNE. 163 

Freibourgj and found delightful quarters at the Zah ringer 
Hof. The situation of this old tt)wn is curious indeed. 
It is built partly on the edge of the precipitous ravine of the 
Saone^ and partly in the ravine itself^ so that the people 
in the upper town look over the chimney-tops of their 
neighbors below. The view from the terrace in the rear 
of our Hotel; was wild and picturesque in the extreme. It 
looked down into the depths of the ravine, through which 
the yellow Saone lazily wandered — and along the banks of 
the stream were the dark narrow streets, and venerable 
looking Convents of the old town. High up on the rugged 
cliflPs upon the opposite side, was perched, the ruin^ of one 
of the old watch towers of the middle ao-es. Freibouro; is 
one of the strong holds of the Jesuits, and abounds in 
Churches and Monasteries^ It was a great source of re- 
gret that we had not an opportunity of hearing the famous 
organ, in the old Cathedral. The iron suspension bridge 
spanning the ravine, is a perfect miracle of architectural 
skill. Its length is nearly a thousand feet, and its eleva- 
tion from the bottom of the ravine nearly two hundred. 
It is supported on four cables of iron wire, each containing 
more than one thousand wires, and is said to be capable of 
supporting three times the weight the bridge will ever be 
likely to bear. The whole cost of the structure, was a 
little over one hundred thousand dollars. 

At noon the next day, having taken an early start, we 
reached Berne. This old capital, of the largest of the 
Swiss Cantons, is a quaint looking town, with its long low 
arcades on both sides of its principal thoroughfares. The 
appearance of the long narrow streets, with their venera- 
ble looking houses shaded by the wide overhanging roofs, 
is curious and picturesque. The Bear, of whose name the 



164 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

word Berne is the middle old German equivalentj seems in 
special favor in tlie city. It emblazons tlie effigy of the 
animal on its arms — and it is constantly presented to the 
eye on the public buildings, among the figures of its foun- 
tains, and on its coins. In the Baren graben, a ditch 
outside the city walls, it maintains several of these animals 
at the public expense. Berne is remarkable for its curious 
fountains. There is one in the Corn House Square called 
the Ogre, of very singular design. It represents a huge 
giant devouring a child, while a number ready to be de- 
voured, are to be seen peeping from his pockets. On a 
fountain in the street of Justice, the Canton is repre- 
sented in a military attitude by a bear in knightly armor, 
with sword and belt, holding the banner of the Canton in 
his paw. Another fountain has a bear attending a cross 
bowman in the capacity of squire. The Minster is a fine 
old building of Gothic architecture, and was built in the 
early part of the fifteenth century. But let no one visit 
Berne without hearing tlie tones of its wondrous organ, in 
this same Cathedral. Its imitations of a storm, the patter- 
ing of hail, the howling of the blast, and the deep roar of 
thunder, are perfectly wonderful. Its mimicry of the 
human voice is most surprisingly natural. The evening 
we visited the Cathedral, some devotional music was im- 
pressively performed. Listening to the rich tones now 
subdued, and now so powerful that it seemed to fill the 
huge pillared aisles of the old Cathedral with sound; one 
could not help recalling these lines : 

"When beneath the nave 
High arching, the Cathedral organ 'gins 
Its prelude, lingeringly exquisite, 
Within retired the bashful sweetness dwells;: 
Anon like sunlight, or the floodgates rush 



BASLE. 165 

Of waters bursts it forth, clear, solemn, full. 
It breaks upon the massive fretted roof, 
It coils up round the clustering pillars tall, 
It leaps into the cell-like chapels, strikes 
Beneath the pavement sepulchres; at once 
The living temple is instinct, ablaze 
With the uncontrolled exuberance of sound." 

The great charm, however, of Berne, as Murray well 
remarks, is the grand view of the Bernese Alps, which is 
afforded from almost any part of the town, and every emi- 
nence around it. On the Platform, which is cjuite a lofty 
terrace near the Cathedral, and a favorite afternoon lounge 
of the inhabitants, six of the snowy peaks may be counted 
along the horizon, on a clear day. 

We left Berne for Basle the next morning by the diligence. 
The road between these two cities, abounds in charming 
scenery. We passed several ruined Castles perched high 
upon the crags of the range of mountains skirting the road. 
One of them, the ruined Castle of Falkenstein, excited in- 
terest, from its once having been the residence of Kudolph 
Yon Wart. His story is worth chronicling, as it is a story 
of woman^s devotion. Wart had been unfortunate enough 
to have been one of the conspirators against Albert, of 
Hungary, and assisted at his assassination. He was cap- 
tured by the infuriated daughter of the murdered Prince. 
She had already manifested her cruel disposition by the 
wholesale slaughter of some sixty, who were supposed to 
have been concerned in the conspiracy — exclaiming as 
their blood flowed round her in torrents, ''now do my 
spirits bathe in May-dew." Wart she condemned to be 
broken alive upon the wheel, and by particular request of 
the infuriated woman, without the death blow, which after 
a few hourS; was always given to put an end to the torture. 



166 rOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

For three days and nights, with all his limbs broken, the 
poor victim lay stretched upon the cruel wheel — and when 
night came, his devoted wife eluding the vigilance of the 
guards, would find her way to his side, to cool the fevered 
and agonized brow of the sufferer, and administer reli- 
gious consolation. In the day time she hid herself in [the 
thickets near by, where she prayed that the next night she 
might find him dead ; but for three long nights she was 
destined to witness his agony, as it was not until the 
fourth morning that he died. 

It was late in the evening when we reached Basle, and 
found most excellent quarters at the Inn of the Three 
Kings. It is an Inn of old renown, for in an ancient book 
in the Library at Basle, printed in 1680, the writer says — 
" at Basle lodge at the Three Kings, where you will be 
most sumptuously entertained. '' 

The town of Basle contains some thirty thousand inhabi- 
tants, and is divided by the Khine, which flows through 
it, into Great Basle, and Little Basle. There are many 
quaint old streets, and strange Burgundian looking houses^ 
with their curious staircases, and overhanging gables. The 
Eathaus in the market place, answering to our Town Hall, 
is an ancient structure, built in the early part of the six- 
teenth century, and on its frieze displays the arms of the 
three primitive Swiss Cantons. There is nothing in the 
Museum worthy of interest, except a few paintings of the 
elder Holbein, and a portrait of Erasmus by this artist. 
They also show here a curious memorial of the local feuds 
of the place, in the Lalenkonig, a Saracenic looking head 
with the tongue lolling from the mouth. The story of its 
origin is a singular one. When that part of the city, which 
is known as Great Basle^ was besieged by the Suabians, 



BASLE* 167 

the people of Little Basle, agreed to assist the besiegers — 
and the signal of the joint attack was to be the striking of 
twelve by the Cathedral clock in Great Basle. The wary 
burghers of Great Basle having been informed of the plot, 
advanced the clock one hour, and made it strike one in- 
stead of twelve. The plotters of Little Basle, disconcerted 
by this stratagem supposed they had dozed away an hour. 
In commemoration of this, and in derision of the people of 
Little Basle — this head, now to be seen in the Museum, 
was carved and placed facing their town, and whenever 
the clock struck the hour of twelve, the tongue lolled out 
of the mouth derisively at the citizens over the river. But 
the people of Little Basle were not willing to stand such 
an insult without retaliation, so they erected a figure on 
their side, which at the hour of twelve^ turned its back to 
the Lalenkonig, with an insulting Indian gesture. 

The Minster, or Cathedral, occupies a prominent place 
among the architectural lions of Basle. It is of red sand- 
stone, and with its two antique looking towers presents a 
very venerable appearance. It dates back to the eleventh 
century. It was in this building the celebrated Eccle- 
siastical Council of the fifteenth century held its delib- 
erations. The structure was undergoing repairs at the 
time of our visit, so we had not an opportunity of examin- 
ing its interior. 

Basle is the capital of the Canton of Basle-town. Swit- 
zerland contains twenty -two Cantons, forming some twenty- 
four States, independent of each other, resembling in their 
legislative powers and duties, in some respects, our own 
government, joined in a federal compact for the common 
support. These Cantons have, for the most part, a mixed 
democratic and aristocratic government — Freibourg and 



168 FOREIG"N ETCHINGS. 

Berne I believe, admitting privileged classes. The people 
'.of Switzerland have been very much extolled for courage, 
|)robity, great simplicity of manners, and wonderful attach- 
ment for home. But as they have deviated more and 
more from their agricultural and pastoral state, these 
qualities appear to have become obliterated. Great revo- 
lutions have rounded off the salient parts of the Swiss cha- 
racter, and we might of them repeat Goldsmith's lines, 

" Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast, 

May sit like falcons cowering on the nest: 

But all the gentler morals, such as play 

Through life's uncultured walk, and charm the way, 

These — far dispersed on timorous pinions fly 

To sport and flutter in a kinder sky." 

Switzerland hemmed in by despotisms, only preserves a 
kind of resemblance to liberal and free institutions. She 
often trembles for her own safety, and is compelled to 
acquiesce in any line of policy, whether antagonistic to 
liberty or not, that secures her own permanency. 

At noon of the next day after our arrival at Basle, we 
left by railway for Strasburg, where we arrived about 
sunset. 

Strasburg is a powerful frontier fortress of France, 
situated on the He, which intersects the town in all direc- 
tions. The streets are mostly narrow, and the houses 
high, while on every side you see the traces of an Imperial 
German town, which Strasburg yet preserves^ although it 
has been united to France for more than two centuries. 
The first morning of our arrival we visited the far-famed 
Minster. When viewed at a distance, the light and 
elegant spire thrust like a spear into the clouds, has a very 
singular appearance, and from some points of view, where 



STRASBURG. 169 

the open work is distinctly seen, it looks like a filmy 
painting against the sky, more than like a solid edifice. 
On approaching nearer you find it carved and fretted in 
the richest manner, but although aware that its elevation 
must be immense, it is not until you compare it with the 
surrounding buildings that you can believe it to be higher 
than the dome of St. Peter's at Rome. The exterior 
being of red sand stone has not a very pleasing appearance, 
but the rich and quaint carvings over the grand portal 
are of great beauty. The interior is indeed magnificent. 
The long avenue of clustered columns, the curious and ela- 
borate tracery of the high and vaulted roof, the gorgeous 
coloring of the painted glass of the noble windows, the 
grand sculptures of the magnificent pulpit in the centre of 
the nave, all combine to form a most perfect picture, and 
give one the fullest conception of what a Cathedral ought 
to be. The Protestant Church of St. Thomas is also worth 
a visit, if only to see a beautiful monument, erected to 
the memory of Marshal Saxe. Of the monuments I have 
yet seen, this surpasses all in its singular appropriateness 
and beauty. Every point is excellent, and you would not 
add to, or take away a single portion of it. A most ad- 
mirably executed full length figure of the Marshal is 
represented about descending a flight of marble steps; at 
the foot rests a sarcophagus with the lid partial!}^ removed; 
a draped figure of Death, terrible in its conception, is re- 
moving the lid with the skeleton fingers of one hand, 
while the other extends towards the hero a spent hour- 
glass. A beautiful female figure, (emblematic of France), 
with the most intense agony depicted on her exquisite 
features, is endeavoring with one hand to stay the descent 
of the Marshal, towards the open tomb, while with the 
P 



170 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

other she appears pleading with the grim spectre beneath 
for a longer forbearance. The three principal figures of 
the group, are a perfect study. The cool, heroic, and 
determined countenance of the Marshal, with a slight 
shade of sadness on the noble brow — the intense and shud- 
dering agony of France, who feels that she is about to 
lose her greatest hero — the horrid grin of the spectre 
Death, who seems to exult in the prospect of so distin- 
guished a victim, are faultless. There are other figures in 
the group, such as a lion striking down a leopard, and 
a most superbly sculptured Hercules, with his lion skin 
about his shoulders, leaning in deep grief upon his club ; 
but the three principal figures absorb all your attention, 
and the others are lost sight of. On leaving the Church, 
in a small chamber near the entrance door, we were 
shown in cases covered with glass, the bodies of a Count of 
Nassau, and his daughter, who had been dead for four 
hundred years. The body of the Count is in a most re- 
markable state of preservation ; the face quite full, and the 
features perfect. The bod-^y of the daughter is not so well 
preserved; the skull and face, of the last are almost reduced 
to fine powder, but the hands quite perfect, while the long 
tapering fingers are covered with the rings she wore at her 
burial; a singular head dress of flowers, still croi^ns the 
crumbling skull. In the neighborhood of such objects a 
strange mysterious feeling lays you under a spell. By a 
sort of process of transfusion, the vital principle that de- 
parted from the silent forms before you, seems to have 
passed into an abstract figure. Life is deaths but death is 
alive, and you breathe, look, tread and whisj)er, as if you 
were in the actual, though invisible presence. 

Lingering two or three days in Strasburg, we left it for 



BADEN. 171 

the far-famed watering-place, Baden-Baden. The town of 
Baden is not a place one would travel far to see. It lias, 
however, a thousand circumjacent attractions, not to speak 
of its subterranean one — the hot water, boiled in nature's 
own tea kettle, for the restoration of the halt, maimed and 
blind, and for the delectation of those who like it; but it 
has a marvellous resemblance to very weak chicken broth. 
The town of Baden is situated partly on the side of a hill, 
and partly in a valley, watered by the little narrow stream of 
the Oosbach, which wanders through it in a sluggish current. 
The nearer hills are covered with beeches and vineyards, 
while the more distant summits are fringed with dark firs, 
forming a striking frame-work to the natural picture. The 
principal hot spring rises in a hollow rock, near the Trinh- 
halle — a little door opens into a place like a cellar, and 
looking in, your curiosity may be gratified by seeing a 
cloud of vapor, and hearing the bubbling of the water 
produced at this spot, at the rate of seven millions of cubic 
inches in a day. Besides the TrinJchalUj which is a magni- 
ficent building, with some very ill-executed frescoes illus- 
trating the traditions of Baden and vicinity, and a portico 
supported by twelve very fine Corinthian pillars : there is 
the Conversationshaus, a vast edifice, with a handsome 
facade of Corinthian columns — comprising, in addition 
to the principal saloon, which is a magnificent chamber, 
the Hall of "Flowers, so called from its being tastefully 
ornamented with artificial flowers from ceiling to floor, and 
two very spacious drawing rooms most superbly furnished. 
The Hall of Flowers on a ball-night, when its magnifi- 
cent mirrors reflect back the blaze of gas light from its 
four immense chandeliers, looks like the chamber of some 
fairy palace. It is in the large Hall for promenading, and 



172 FOEEIGN ETCHINGS. 

the one adjoining it, that the gambling tables attract their 
victims. From an early hour in the morning, nntil a late 
hour in the night, you will find these tables crowded with 
both seses and all ages. Sunday is a great day for the 
gamblers. Then, these tables are thronged in rows two or 
three deep, with an excited crowd; and there you may ob- 
serve fair faces of women lit up with the excitement of suc- 
cess, or saddened by disappointment : fair hands clutching 
the golden pile as it is scored, or fingering restlessly that 
which is fast diminishing. It is bad enough when the 
gentler sex are represented at these tables, by those whose 
blanched locks and wrinkled features are no earnests that 
advancing age has dulled the fever of this wretched excite- 
ment in their veins, but when youth and beauty takes its 
place in the list, to stand ^^ the hazard of the die,'' you 
long to whisper the note of warning in the ear of the 
giddy creature, begging her to shun a temptation which 
only leads to misery, and whose pursuit most certainly 
tends to dry up all the nobler, finer feelings of the soul. 

The next morning after our arrival, we started to visit 
the old Castle of Baden, located on one of the loftiest hills 
overlooking the town. Thanks to the liberality of the 
young Grand Duke, a fine carriage way has been con- 
structed, winding gradually up to the ruin, with pleasant 
seats and bowers along the entire road. We passed some 
most delightful shady recesses in the fine woods that cover 
the hill-side. One charming retreat looked as if it might 
have been the tiny theatre 

" Where elves had acted plays, such as they took 
From the fond legends of old fairy book. 
Their 'tiring room, beneath these hollows green, 
While clustering glowworms lighted up the scene, 
Their orchestra, these happy bows which shook 
With music, such as lulls the gentle brook." 



BADEN. 173 

The old ruin is about two miles from the town, upon a 
very lofty elevation^ in the midst of a forest of pineS; oaks, 
elms, and beeches. This truly magnificent pile reposes in 
death-like tranquility. From the vast extent of the en- 
closure and loftiness of the remaining towers, you arc 
impressed with the same mixture of awe and curiosity, you 
would feel on meeting with the bones of a giant upon some 
lofty mountain top. The view from the summit of the 
keep of the old Castle is superb. Looking in the direction 
of Baden, you have the town with its quaint roof*-', 
some two thousand feet below, while the lofty hills beyond 
covered with the dense masses of the Black Forest form a 
most enchanting back-ground to the picture. On your 
right, the rich smooth plains of the Rhine, covered with 
villages fade away in the extreme distance to a haze, in 
the midst of which^ the shadowy outline of the spire of 
the Strasburg Cathedral, thirty miles away, may be seen. 
The mountains behind, the forests around, the enchanting- 
valleys, the wild ravines, and fea-tile plains, form a picture 
which lingers in the memory long after you have turned 
from it with unwilling feet. This old Castle bas never 
been repaired since it was set on fire by Marshal Turenne, 
during his memorable ravage of the Palatinate. 

On descending from our pleasant visit to the old ruin, 
we stopped at the new Castle, at present occupied by the 
reigning Grand Duke. It is not remarkable for its archi- 
tecture, but commands very noble views of the surrounding 
country. Near it is a Convent, the walls of which are 
built against a rock. As we passed in, the sweet voices 
of the nuns singing sacred hymns, were borne to us on the 
breeze. But the most remarkable thing about this Castle, 
is the number of subterranean vaults it contains; the 

p2. 



1^74 EOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

object and origin of which have been the subject of much 
speculation. You enter them by a fine winding staircase. 
This staircase conducts to a large vaulted chamberj which 
receives light through windows pierced in the upper part 
of the wall. From thence you enter an apartment con- 
taining the remains of Roman Baths. That this part 
of the Castle was the work of the Romans, there is no 
doubt; but the destination of the horrid dungeons to which 
the Bath Room leadSj has been the object of much conjec- 
ture. It is generally supposed, that these dungeons were 
not constructed by the Romans, but by the Germans ; and 
that they are several centuries older that the Castle erected 
over them. The most probable hypothesis seems to be, 
that they are the dungeons used by the awful Secret Tri- 
bunal. From the ante-chamber, containing stone reservoirs 
adjoining the Roman Baths, you enter a place where you 
must bid farewell to the light of day. The guide conducts 
you with a candle, and indeed this precaution is necessary, 
as the passage is any thing but commodious, and presents 
dangers even to those who are sure footed. There you 
behold cells in which the victims of cruelty and injustice 
languished in eternal darkness and solitude. Six of these 
dungeons excavated in the rock, succeed each other in a 
long dreary passage, closed by a door made of a single stone 
two feet thick. The noise made by this awful door turning 
on its hinges, is enough to make your hair stand erect with 
horror. After passing through several galleries of equal 
dimensions, you enter the Chamber of Torture. The rings 
in the solid rock, and the partial remains of the dreaded 
rack, leave no doubt as to the object and purpose to which 
this room was appropriated. Near this is a large vaulted 
chamber, surrounded by the stone seats once occupied by 



HEIDELBERG. 175 

the awful Judges of the Secret Tribunal; while upon the 
right of the entrance is the deep vault, over which was 
the trap, where the poor victim was ordered to kneel 
to pray to the Virgin, (whose figure occupied the niche, 
still to be seen above), when he was precipitated two 
hundred feet below, upon the sharp knives at the bottom. 
A few years ago this vault was examined, and many bones- 
were found, with shreds of clothing still sticking to the 
knives. What fiendish contrivances for exercising their 
vengeance the men of the olden time resorted to, and how 
much diabolical ingenuity did they manifest. 

From Baden we rode to Heidelberg. One cannot but be 
charmed with the truly romantic and delightful situation 
of this celebrated town. It is surrounded by an amphi- 
theatre of mountains, and lies partly along the narrow 
valley through which flows the Neckar, and partly up the 
acclivity of a lofty hill, which rises behind the town, clothed 
to the summit with the richest green, and finely wooded, 
bearing on its side about half way up, the impressive ruins 
of the magnificent and far-famed Castle. Few cities have 
suffered more from the horrors of civil war, than Heidel- 
berg. During the seventeenth century, it was again, and 
again sacked, burnt and partly destroyed. War has indeed 
passed heavily over all Germany, and its blood-stained 
footsteps are traceable every where. The French, of all 
other nations, seem to have carried (as they ever do) atro- 
city to the highest pitch, and to be known in this country, 
only through the smoke of battle fields and burning towns. 

Early the next morning after our arrival, we rode up to 
the celebrated ruins of the Castle by the winding way that 
leads by Wolfsbrunnen, catching very glorious views of 
the charming scenes of the valley beneath as we ascended. 
In the wars with Louis XIV.; which laid waste the Palati- 



176 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

nate with fire and sword, and caused it to blaze with the 
flames of twenty-one villages in a single day, the destruc- 
tion of this noble Castle took place, which left it the ruin 
we now see it. Its situation is very commanding in a recess 
formed by mountains. From the front terrace there is a 
very extensive view, which comprises the town itself, the 
tasteful gardens, arbors, and vineyards on the opposite 
hills, while the Neckar winds in its course below to join 
the PJiine at Manheim, which city is just visible in the 
dim and shadowy distance. The outworks of this fortress 
Castle with its towers^ ditches, and entrance gates, bear 
various emblems of chivalry and war belonging to by-gone 
times. In one spot is a huge round tower, whose ponderous 
mass lies torn from its foundation, reclining its immense 
burden on the earth, having been blown up by the French, 
and testifying by its vast ruin how much more destructive 
is the rude shock of war^ than the silently mouldering hand 
of time. The grand destroyer is indeed universal in his 
operations, but he takes ages to do his work, while war 
leaves in its train -ruins resembling the desolations of the 
earthquake. 

The central part of this Palace Castle, where the Elec- 
tors of the Palatinate resided, and held their Court, is- a 
remnant of most exquisite ornamental workmanship; and 
in the days of its glory, must have been a superb monu- 
ment of the magnificence of the German potentates. In 
the Hall of the Knights, which still remains, we saw many 
interesting relics of the days of chivalry ; and in the 
gloomy chapel, which has also escaped, in some degree, 
the general wreck, was the figure of a monk in wood, 
sitting in his confessional, clothed in the dress of his order, 
and so well executed as at first sight to startle the beholder 



HEIDELBERG. 177 

with all the effect of real life. These ruins are considered 
the finest in this land of feudal remains. But I do not 
think the interest they excite is at all comparable with 
that produced by the ruins of Kenilworth — they do not 
come home to you with that startling force of association^ 
awakened by the sight of the ruined and dismantled halls 
of the English Castle. 

The Castle of Heidelberg has not suffered merely by 
war, still less by time, but the elements have conspired 
to scathe it into the mere skeleton of what it formerly was. 
It has been repeatedly struck by lightning. The deso- 
late grass-grown area, the noble facades which are now 
bare walls adorned with sculptured and heraldric arms, 
form an impressive contrast with what fancy pictures of 
the mirth and minstrelsy that once held high revel here. 

"We lingered long upon the stone terrace that overlooks 
the city, with its long straggling street, filled with market 
girls in their white kerchiefs, and baskets piled up with 
fruit. Right in front was the far-reaching valley, with the 
vineyards looking so near you could almost distinguish the 
purple grapes, clustering on the hill side vines — and listen ! 
in the stillness of the morning you can catch the rippling 
murmur, that steals up through the overhanging beech 
woods — it is the song of the Neckar, its sweet glad song : 
for the Neckar is on its way to meet the Rhine, and the 
Rhine is near at hand. Behind us rises a huge pile of 
sculptured and embattled walls, a very chaos of ruin, 
scathed by lightning, blackened by fire, sapped by leaguer 
and storm — Fate's pitiless '^ In memoriam'' over great 
destinies and mad ambitions. Tread reverently these courts ; 
as you would tread the vaults of a sepulchre^ with the 
dead around. Hark ! how the gaunt trees looking through 



178 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

the rifted oriels^ mntter their grand memories to each other. 
See ! along the east front, half-hidden by the ivy, are lat- 
tices of the old banqueting hall, 

"In the empty window panes 
Horror reigns." 

If yon were to enter that Hall at the witching hour of 
night, you might chance to hear strange sounds; the 
ujoroar of wassail, laughter, and stormy shouting ; the 
gurgling of the amber wine, and the blended harmony of 
harp and lute : you might even see shapes, if you were 
strong of heart — the shapes of Palatines, Princes and 
Bishops, and a woman's shape above all, pale but heroic — 
the daughter of a Stuart ; the grand daughter of the un- 
fortunate Queen of Scots. 

" 'Tis a face with queenly eyes. 
And a front of constancies," 

There is a little hand outstretched reaching forward, 
forever forward towards the fatal phantasm of a crown. 
You would see that phantasm lure her on : you would see 
her follow it with all her retinue; ^^a goodly array and 
strong,'' follow it over wild tracks and hostile provinces, 
over mountains and through forests to the foretold scene 
of empire ; and then after a pause, your ear would catch 
faint and far, the clash and tumult of stricken fields, of 
cities taken and re-taken, sounds of hope, triumph and 
despair; and last of all, loud, awful, shrill, cleaving its 
way through space and time, and echoing and re-echoing 
through the chambers of that deserted house, a solitary 
trumpet blast, a very agony of sound, like the wail of 
some lost soul in final ruin and discomfiture. 

So entirely has nature resumed her sway in the precincts 
of this ruined Castle, that it is difficult to conceive its ever 



MAYENCE. 179 

having been the scene of savage and sanguinary warfare. 
With the song of the bird in your ear, and the blue flowers 
purpling the turf at your feet, you strive in vain to realize 
the thunder of Tilly's batteries, or the rush of French 
batallions through the imminent deadly breach; and yet 
ten times has this paradise been made a pandemonium by 
the deviltry of war — ten times have the breaches been 
opened, the mines sprung, the woods mowed down, the 
summer gardens marred, and lo! the forgiveness of Nature. 
The ruinous strife once ended^ her gentle work of healing 
begins — over the shattered wall she trains her ivy — 
along the trampled sod her mosses creep — with her earth 
she covers the slain, and with her holy silence she hushes 
the discord both of victory and defeat. Not a wound, 
but she sears over ; not a wreck, but her art makes grace- 
ful : silently, but ceaselessly her work goes on, until at 
length she triumphs in a Paradise regained. But a truce 
to sentiment, — let us descend from the airy regions of the 
poetic to the prosaic. Upon our returning to the town, we 
found that in lingering so long among the ruins, we should 
not have time to see the famous University, and we were 
forced reluctantly to hurry to the railway station, to take 
the cars for Mayence, where we arrived at an early hour 
in the evening. 

The town of Mayence occupies an elevated site in a rich 
fertile country^, opposite the confluence of the Rhine and 
Mein. The surrounding hills, which form a vast amphi- 
theatre, produce a Rhine wine that is in great demand. 
The town was once a Roman station, as almost every town 
on the Rhine has been. Its Cathedral is worth a visit — 
filled with some very exquisite monuments of Bishops and 
Archbishops, and containing many splendid chapels — but 



180 JFOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

the monument that interested me most of all, was the monu- 
ment to the last of the Troubadours, Heinricli Von Meis- 
sen, with whose history I was familiar, and who was borne 
to his grave upon the fair shoulders of the noblest ladies 
of Mayence, and over whose coffin they poured libations of 
wine : 

"Sad o'er the flower-strown coffin 

They cast their garlands fair; 

The plume- crowned bier, which slowly 

Eight noble ladies bear. 

They bear it on with music 

And weeping to the shrine ; 

And from the golden censors 

They pour the sacred wine." 

Yon Meissen was one of those warrior poets whose 
names are connected with all that is lovely and amiable 
in song — one who wreathed the graces of melody round 
proud and warlike spirits, and gradually softened down 
and refined them into all that was gentle, kind, and social 
in human nature. Let others dwell on the high doings 
of statesmen and warriors ; I love to contemplate the 
quiet peaceful walk of those great benefactors of their race, 
who scattered abroad in the path of every-day life, some 
of the sweetest flowers of poetry and song. Centuries 
have rolled away since libations of wine were poured by 
fair hands, over the minstrel's tomb — empires have been 
lost and won ; kingdoms blotted out fram the map of na- 
tions, and the proud spirits of eaxth laid low, and their 
very names forgotten ; but time has spared this gentler 
record, and the memory of the humble Troubadour-poet is 
still a treasured thing with the good people of his native 
city, and consecrates the tomb beneath which his ashes 
repose. Long may that memory exist, and deeply may it 



MAYENCE. 181 

be cherished by all who can appreciate, with true poetic 
devotion, the touching pathos, delicacy and grace with 
which chivalrous attributes were clothed by those who 
sang together in the early dawn of refinement and poetry. 
Peace to the ashes of the last of the Troubadours. 

Mayence has an interest from its having been the cradle 
of the art of Printing. It was the birth-place and resi- 
dence of John Gensfleisch, called Guttenberg, the inventor 
of moveable types. His native city treasures his memory, 
and about twenty years ago, a bronze statue by Thorwald- 
sen, was erected in one of the squares. Mayence belongs 
to the Grand Duke of Hesse-Darmstadt. It is the chief 
and strongest fortress tower of the German Confederation, 
and is garrisoned by Prussian and Austrian troops in nearly 
equal proportions. 



CHAPTER XII. 

PRUSSIA AND ITS CAPITAL. 

The General appearance of Berlin — The Thier Garten — The Bran- 
denburg Gate — The Uuter den Linden — Statue of Frederick 
the Great. 

Prussia as a nation, compared with those that surround 
her, has but a modern origin. The name that now attaches 
to this powerful and prosperous people, originally belonged 
to a desolate district in the north-eastern angle of the ter- 
ritory now embraced by the present kingdom. In this 
wild spot, a body of Teutonic adventurers, who had waged 
fierce fight with the Saracen for the possession of the Holy 
Sepulchre, having driven out the Pagans who infested it, 
settled themselves ; and in due time waxed so powerful, that 
they managed to play an influential part for two centuries 
in the afiairs of Europe. At the Reformation this military 
Erotherhood, renounced the Romish faith and embraced 
the doctrines of Luther. Soon after they efi"ected a treaty 
with their feudal superior, the King of Poland, by which 
their possessions were consolidated into an hereditary 
Duchy of Prussia, and settled on the Grand Master then 
ruling. That functionary was at the time, Albert of 
Rrandenburg, a junior branch of the House, whose memory 
and great deeds are still cherished in the modern kingdom. 
About the year 1618, the Duchy was conveyed to the 
eldest branch of the House of Brandenburg. But it was 
not until Frederick William the Great succeeded to the 



PRUSSIA AND ITS CAPITAL. 183 

Ducal Crown, sometime in the middle of tlie seventeenth 
century, that the Duchy ceased to be a feudality of Poland. 
The Revolutions produced in the Empire, by what is 
known in history, as ^Hhe thirty years' war,'^ enabled him 
to emancipate his Duchy from the pretensions of Poland, 
and to obtain its recognition as a sovereign state, about 
the year 1657. 

On the 18th of January, 1701, Frederick I. placed a 
royal crown on his own head at Koningsberg — and a King 
of Prussia then for the first time made his appearance on the 
field of Europe. Since that period constant accretions have 
expanded the Kingdom into its present bulk. Signories — 
counties — principalities — duchies — bishoprics and pro- 
vinces have been gathered in from time to time, proving 
that annexation is by no means a vice of more modern 
times. By these successive additions, and by a policy in 
some respects admirably adapted to the condition of things 
— a petty Dukedom in an obscure corner of Europe, has 
been raised in the short space of a century and a half to a 
foremost rank among the powers of the world. 

The Kingdom is thus, comparatively speaking, a thing 
of yesterday, and so is its metropolis Berlin. As a modern 
traveler remarks, ^^ Berlin has no Grothic Churches — no 
narrow streets, no fantastic gables — no historic stone and 
lime — no remnants of the picturesque ages recalling the 
olden time.'^ It is this modern air about the city that 
first strikes the observer. Fishermen's huts constituted 
the nucleus of the future city not many years ago. 
In 1590, its population was but twelve thousand. Under 
the Fredericks it made rapid strides — and by the time 
of Napoleon's conquest, it had reached nearly two hun- 
dred thousand. By the last census, it is put down at 



184 FOREIGN ETCHINGS, 

nearly half a million, giving it the fifth place among. 
European Capitals. And yet a stranger can scarcely realize 
that it is a city with so great a population. There is 
nothing of the bustle and stir of a great metropolis about 
it. The current of human life seems to run as sluggishly 
along its streetS;, as the lazy waters of its slothful river 
Spree. For an hour or so during the day, there is a sort 
of spasmodic effort at activity and gaiety along the magnifi- 
cent avenue of the Unter den Linden : but that passed, 
Berlin relapses into the quiet and genteel air of some 
small provincial town. . And yet with all the general air 
of quiet pervading the city, there is an activity and 
energy in the business quarter, which if it fails to make 
itself heard and seen to the extent of other cities, has, 
nevertheless produced its certain sure effect. The energy 
and skill of the workshops have made Berlin prosperous 
and wealthy. The huge chimneys of her factories which 
produce her locomotives, her engines, her cloths, her 
poi'celain, and the numerous articles of necessity and 
luxur}^ with which she abounds, manifest the business 
energy and appliances that have been steadily at work, in 
effecting her rapid rise and development. These factories, 
which crowd the sides of the serpentine River Spree, and 
discolor its waters, extend from gate to gate. Berlin is 
the maker and moulder of her own porcelain. She bores 
and fashions her own artillery — she exhibits her skill and 
taste in the casting of those bronze statuettes that are the 
admiration of the world; and possesses to the full all the 
elements of a busy, thriving manufacturing town. 

Berlin occupies a large sandy plain, and is divided by 
its river Spree into two parts, whereof the part to the north 
and east is the most ancient and irregular, and that to the 



THIER GARTEN. 185 

south and west regularly built, and the seat of much opu- 
lence and taste. From the south side of the town you 
enter by the Halliche Gate. From the circular area just 
inside this gate, called La belle Alliance Platz, branch off 
three of the largest and finest streets in the more modern 
part of the city. The street to the left is the Wilhelms 
Strasse. All along it, the houses are large and stately, 
most of them distinguished by arched entrances. This 
street runs into and terminates in the Unter den Linden, 
near the famous Brandenburg Gate. The central street 
with its long vista immediately before you, is the Friederichs 
Strasse, named after the great Frederick. It is more than 
two English miles long, in a perfectly straight line, and 
extends from side to side^ uniting the Halliche with the 
Oranienburg Gate. The Linden Strasse, which must not 
be confounded with the Unter den Linden, is the third 
street that branches off from the Platz, but is not to be 
compared with either of the others, although still a hand- 
some street. Unite the termination of the three streets 
here described, and you enclose almost all the fashionable 
part of Berlin. Nearly all the streets embraced in such 
enclosure are straight and rectangular to each other, 
reminding one in their general appearance, of those of 
Philadelphia. 

The Thier Garten, which lies just outside the walls at 
the western extremity of Berlin, and into which you enter 
through the mao;nificent Brandenburc: Gate, ornamenting 
that extremity of the Unter den Linden, may be described 
as an immense forest three miles in length, and two in 
width, laid out into numerous fine avenues for carriages 
and horsemen — while shady walks ornamented with flower 

beds, and at intervals with artificial lakes, invite the pedes- 
q2 



186 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

trian and lounger. Fine statues ornament some of the 
avenues, and in the spring, summer and fall, it is the 
favorite resort of the entire population. The much lauded 
Tuileries, or the Bois de Boulogne, recently enlarged and 
beautified by the present Emperor of the French, is not to 
be compared with it. One might as well institute a 
comparison between Washington Square, Philadelphia, 
and Hyde Park, London. Entering Berlin by the Char- 
lottenburg road, which runs directly through the Thier 
Garten, you pass under the magnificent Brandenburg 
Gate^ to stand in the Pariser Platz, which is at the 
head of the Unter den Linden. This Gate certainly is 
one of the finest architectural specimens of its kind in 
Europe. It is said to be an imitation of the Propylseum 
at Athens, but on a somewhat larger scale : and certain it 
is, that there is nothing beautiful in modern architecture 
which does not owe either directly or indirectly, its beauty 
to the models that Grecian genius and taste erected for the 
admiration and imitation of ages. The six pillars support 
an entablature without any pediment ; a gateway not 
arched passing between each row of pillars. On the en- 
tablature is a colossal figure of Victory in a chariot drawn 
by four horses, the whole being constructed of copper. 
This group is not only pure and classical, but is so placed 
as to give an exceedingly graceful appearance to the entire 
structure below. The korses are most superbly executed, 
and really appear as if they would spring out of their har- 
ness : nowhere have I seen more admirable sculptured rep- 
xesentations. The ancients, however much they excelled us 
in imitations of the human form in marble, failed most 
singularly in their attempts to represent these animals, 
whether in single figures or groups. The bronze horse 



BRANDENBURG GATE. 187 

which the Emperor Antoninus Pius bestrides in front of the 
Capitoline Museum at Rooie — and the four horses over 
the Church of St. Marks^ in the Piazza San Marco at 
Venice^ show in their clumsy limbs and ungraceful out- 
lines^ how lamentably the ancient sculptors failed in this 
regard. The poetical spirit of Ovid could not have given 
more spirit to the chargers of the Sun, than the modern 
artist has done to these superb creations of his genius. 
No wonder the taste of Napoleon observed at a glance, tbe 
artistic beauties of this ornament of the Brandenburg 
Gate, and carried it off to Paris. But when the tide of 
battle turned at Waterloo,. turned too by those very Prus- 
sians he had despoiled, it made this car not an unmeaning 
bauble, but a real car of Victory. It is said that the 
eagle and th-e iron cross were then added as emblems to 
the principal figure, to commemorate this final triumph at 
Waterloo. 

Passing under this magnificent gate, you find yourself in 
the small square of the Pariser Platz. Directly before you 
stretches one of the finest streets of any city in Europe, the 
Unter den Linden. Directly through the centre is a broad 
and noble walk shaded by linden trees, giving the name 
to the street. On both sides this shaded central avenue, 
run roads laid off for equestrians, and as carriage tho- 
roughfares. The street is full two hundred and fifty feet 
wide from curb to curb, with fine broad flag-stoned pave- 
ments on both sides. About a quarter of a mile from the 
Brandenburg Gate the central line of lindens termi- 
nates, and the street expands into one wide avenue. Taking 
your position at this termination of the avenue of lindens, 
you have before you one of the most magnificent 
equestrian monuments in the world ; that erected to the 



188 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

the Grreat Frederick, whose memory is clierisLed by all 
classes of the people. It is the work of Rauch their favo- 
rite sculptor, and while it fitly commemorates the exploits 
of one of the greatest captains, is an enduring monument 
of the genius and skill of the greatest of modern sculptors. 
It stands upon a huge block of polished granite. On the 
four sides of the bronze base, which rests upon this block, 
are sculptured figures in grand relief, representing on foot 
and on horseback the celebrated generals, philosophers and 
statesmen who shed such lustre upon the brilliant reign 
of the King. Just above this block, and immediately 
beneath the equestrian figure, sculptured tablets most beau- 
tifully record the remarkable incidents in the life of the 
philosophic monarch. But the one figure that soon en- 
gages all your attention, as it ought to do, is that of the 
King himself, mounted on a spirited charger. This eques- 
trian statue is more than seventeen feet high, and repre- 
sents the old warrior in the habit that was so familiar to 
the people of his day. The old cane, carried by a band 
fastened at the wrist, the pistol holsters, the three cornered 
cocked hat, and the entire harness of the horse are accurate 
copies of the relics preserved of the King in the Kunts- 
hammer, or Chamber of Art, at the Palace. 

Standing close to the foot of the monument yon have 
directly before you a most comprehensive view of the 
principal public buildings of Berlin. On your left is the 
Academy of Fine Arts, and the immense buildings of the 
far-famed University, the magnificent and stately Arsenal, 
with its groups of emblematic statuary and unique sculp- 
tured devices, and the Guard House. On your right may 
be noticed, the Prince of Prussia's tasteful palace, the 
Koyal Library and the Opera House. On each side of the 



THE TJNTER DEN LINDEN. 189 

Guard House are placed marble statues, by Raucli, of 
Generals Biilow Von Dennewitz, and Scharnhorst, the 
reformer of the Prussian army, after the battle of Jena. 
Directly opposite, on the other side of the avenue, is 
the bronze statue of old Blucher, looking fierce and 
stern, as if he was still in hot pursuit ^^ of .those ex- 
ecrable French, and their rascal leader/^ In front of 
our position at the base of the statue, but a little to the 
right, over the bridge spanning the Spree, is the Old Palace 
called the Schloss, which considering the. immense space 
it covers, and the gorgeous elegance of its state apartments 
is not excelled by any similar structure in Europe. This 
Palace is connected with the Unter den Linden by a broad 
and elegant bridge spanning the Spree. This bridge is 
adorned on both sides 'with groups of marble statuary 
representing the training of a warrior, from the moment 
when his Guardian Genius points to the three great names 
of Alexander, Caesar, and Frederick, upon a shield, down 
to the last scene of all, when dying upon the battle-field, 
he sinks into the arms of Fame, who places a wreath of 
victory upon his brow. 

Directly in front of the Schloss is the tasteful structure 
of the Museum, with the pretty Lust-Garten in front. Be- 
tween the Schloss and the Palace facing the Lust-Garten, 
is the Cathedral a sombre-looking structure, but possessing 
an interest from the fact that it is the burial place of 
the Royal family, and contains the remains of the great 
Elector and of Frederick I., in gilded coffins. In front of 
the Palace Gate on the Lust-Garten side stand bronze horses 
and grooms, rather a poor imitation of the group on the 
Monte Cavallo at Rome. The wits of Berlin in allusion to 
the policy of the reigning monarch, give them the nick- 



190 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

names of "Progress checked/^ and "Retrogression encou- 
raged/' 

Between two churclies in tlie Gens d'Armes Platz. 
which you reach from the Unter den Linden, by the Char- 
lotten Strasse, stands the Theatre^ or Schauspielhaus, a 
very tasteful structure ornamented with sculptured devices 
representing mythological subjects, by Eauch and Tieck. 
Whether this location was intended to illustrate the old 
adage of "the nearer the church, the farther from God/' 
we know not, but it is a very curious sight to see a play 
house flanked thus by two churches. 

The general appearance of the more modern part of 
Berlin^ is very pleasing. The streets are straight, clears 
and well paved. Nowhere in Europe do you see so many 
buildings constructed in such correct architectural taste. 
The position of the city stretched out upon a sandy plain, 
with no means of drainage is somewhat unfavorable to clean- 
liness, and many complaints are made in the summer season 
of the vile odors that offend the nostrils from the filth of 
the gutter-ways. A very short time will remedy this evil, 
as Berlin is soon to be supplied with abundance of water 
by means of the new water-works, in course of erection 
and nearly completed. As it is now, with all its present 
disadvantages, the streets in their cleanliness will contrast 
very favorably with those of any capital in Europe. 

Berlin owes much to the energy, zeal and munificence 
of Frederick the Great. He lavished immense sums in 
embellishing this his favorite city, and added greatly to 
its resources by his judicious fostering and encouragement 
of its manufacturing advantages. After his exhausting 
seven years' war, he appears to have gone to work in ear- 
nest to efface the marks of the scourge. Every year he 



BERLIN. 191 

ordered a certain nuraber of houses to be erected in Berlin, 
and on a certain day, the Director annually waited on the 
Monarch, who gave him drawings of the handsomest build- 
ings in Italy, of which, he had a great collection, made 
him lay out the ground-plan, which he enlarged or dimin- 
ished at his pleasure. When the houses were built, he 
gave them to the proprietors of the old houses that had 
been demolished. The French refugees too, greatly con- 
tributed to the embellishment and prosperity of the city, 
inasmuch as they introduced all kinds of manufactures and 
various arts. The present monarch has accomplished much 
for the advancement and embellishment of the capital of 
his dominions, and although he clings to the doctrines of 
absolutism, and seems to have as lofty ideas of kingly 
prerogative as some other monarchs in history, whose fate 
should be to him a warning; still it cannot be denied that 
he has in all things proved himself a liberal encourager of 
pursuits tending to the increase of the greatness of hia 
kingdom, and a warm patron of the fine arts — employing 
the first talent of Europe in embellishing and adorning 
the public places of his Capital. 



CHAPTEE XIII. 

A FEW OF THE CELEBRITIES OF BERLIN. 

The Royal Library — The Old and New Museum — The Chamber 
of Art — Christmas in Berlin. 

If the genius of architecture in its more classical devel- 
opment has done much to adorn the exterior of the public 
buildings and structures of Berlin^ Science has not forgot- 
ten to spread a feast of good things for her votaries. The 
treasures of the noble Library — the Museum — the long 
and well-filled Halls of the Picture Gallery, arranged in 
the order of the Schools ^- the University, the lectures of 
whose Professors, as those of Padua once did, attract stu- 
dents from all parts of the world — attest that mental 
cultivation and artistic taste are largely encouraged. 
The Royal Library is located in the Opera Platz, very 
near the Linden. It is said to owe its peculiar shape to a 
whim of Frederick the Great, who commanded the archi- 
tect to take a chest of drawers for his model : and most 
certainly it has no claim to any great architectural beauty. 
But its outside defects may be forgiven, when you take 
into consideration the literary treasures enclosed here. 
It contains nearly six hundred thousand books in all lan- 
guages. Its works on American History alone, amount 
to several thousand volumes, and I was much surprised 
find here a very complete collection of the United States 
statistics, and many of the Law Keports of our difi'erent 
States. The literary curiosities of this Library are exceed- 
ingly rare. Here in glass cases you are shown Luther's 



THE ROYAL LIBRARY. 193 

Hebrew Bible, the very copy from which he made his 
translation, with marginal notes in his own hand writing ; 
also his manuscript of the Psalms, with corrections in red 
ink. Here also may be seen the Bible, which Charles 
I. carried to the scaffold, and just before he knelt down to 
receive the fatal blow, handed to Bishop Juxon. The 
mother of the good Bishop's wife, resided in Berlin. After 
his death, it came into the possession of her son^ who pre- 
sented it to the Library. You gaze at this memorial of 
the unfortunate monarch, with the deepest interest. Either 
by design or accident, it was open at the nineteenth chap- 
ter of Job, and we could read these lines so strikingly ap- 
plicable to the monarch's fate. ^' Behold ! I cry out of 
wrong, but am not heard. I cry aloud, but there is no 
judgment. He hath fenced up my way, that I cannot 
pass. He hath stripped me of my glory, and taken the 
crown from off my head." In the same Hall may be 
noticed the Guttenburg Bible on parchment, bearing the 
date of 1450, said to be the first book printed with movea- 
ble type. Near it, is a manuscript of the four gospels, 
written upon parchment, and given by Charlemagne to 
Wittekind. It is most beautifully bound in a cover of 
ivory, elaborately carved. The lover of science will be de- 
lighted in finding here the two hemispheres of metal, with 
which Otto Guericke made the experiment, which led him 
to discover the air pump. When he had exhausted the 
air between them, he found that the force of thirty horses 
was unable to separate them. This immense collection of 
Books, has never beea printed in catalogue form : but the 
bound catalogues in manuscript^ are so numerous that 
they form quite a Library in themselves. These nume- 
rous catalogues are so methodized, that there is very little, 
if any delay, in turning to whatever department of litera- 
B 



19 i, FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

ture, you are in search of. Everything is conducted with 
that order, regularity and exactitude, which marks and 
distinguishes the German mind in everything down to the 
minutest details. 

The Museum is a classical structure, facing the Lust- 
Garten, and directly opposite the old Palace. The wonder- 
ful pencil of Cornelius, and the wild and erratic genius of 
Schinkel have assisted in adorning with frescoes of an al- 
legorical character, the walls of the rather handsome colon- 
nade in front. German genius revels in allegory, and it 
is only German patience that can stand, study out, and 
comprehend the combinations and mystic emblems which 
such allegories embody. These frescoes are said to illus- 
trate the formation of the universe, and the intellectual 
development of mankind. But as the pen guided by the 
greatest human wisdom has failed to convey very clear 
ideas upon these abstruse topics — so the pencil of the 
German artist on the walls of the Museum, has succeeded 
no better. Night — Uranus leading the dance of the 
starry host — Hope with her anchor — Pegasus with his 
spurning hoofs— Morning and Evening — Spring, Sum- 
mer, and Autumn — all mingle here in such glowing 
colors^ and with such an allegorical confusion, that the 
brain swims and the head aches, in endeavoring to give 
the whole reality and consistency. On the right side as 
you ascend the staircase leading up to this colonnade, is 
the magnificent group, of the combat of the Amazon with 
a tiger, by Kiss. A very inferior copy of this glorious 
work of art, was to be seen at the exhibition of the World's 
Pair, at New York. To my taste there are few productions 
of the ancient chisel, that surpass this fine conception of 
German genius. There is something truly wonderful in 
the delineation of the terror of the agonized horse, in 



PICTURE GALLERY. 195 

whose noble cliest the tiger is fleshing his claws. It far 
surpasses the same conception in the celebrated group of 
a lion seizing a horse, in the Palazzo de Conservatore at 
Rome. The headlong savage fierceness of the tiger too, 
is in most admirable contrast with the heroic and cool de- 
termination, that looks boldly forth from the piercing eyes 
of the Amazonian huntress. 

The Picture Gallery, in what is now known as the old 
Museum, abounds in some very fine specimens of the 
Flemish and Dutch Schools. It is divided into small com- 
partments, and arranged according to the date of the 
Schools. This is a great convenience, and enables the 
spectator to study the advance and progress of art, from 
almost its first rude beginnings. There is a singular pic- 
ture by Teniers in the gallery, which shows how the 
painter took revenge for the many cruelties and neglects 
practiced upon him by his mother-in-law, and wife. He 
has, in the painting representing the temptation of St. 
Anthony, embalmed this portion of his household in ridi- 
cule, for every generation to gaze at. The poor saint, 
(and under this figure the painter represents himself,) is 
seated in his cave, surrounded by all sorts of demoniacal 
comicalities. A young woman of exceeding beauty of 
feature, stands near gazing upon him with great earnest- 
ness, as if to fascinate him with her look, and from beneath 
her long gown peeps forth the tip of a devil's tail. A little 
to the one side, stands an old woman of a more decidedly 
devilish character, having her head ornamented with horns, 
and the cloven hoofs peep forth from beneath the gown. 
Thus did the painter revenge himself upon the authors of 
his domestic infelicities. There are some very fine pic- 
tures by Rubens and Snyders ; and one or two by the ar- 
tists conjointly. There is a cock-fight by Snyders — a 



190 



FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 



small picture ; but in its wonderful truthfnlness and 
spiritj not surpassed by any of bis larger and more elabo- 
rate works. 

The new Museum, soon to be connected witb tbe old, 
contains some of tbe finest treasures of art in Europe. It is 
sn immense structure, and in the extensiveness of its Egyp- 
tian and mediceval collection of antiquities, not equalled 
m the world. In the lare-e Hall devoted to the exhibition 
of northern antiquities, may b« found arms, ornaments 
and vessels, once belonging to those original tribes of 
Scandinavia and Germany, the ancestors of the very 
barbarians, who eleven hundred years after its foundation 
burst through the Salarian Gate of Rome, and gave up the 
Eternal City to ruin and devastation. Here may be seen 
an idol of the Sun, found at Eolin, evidently of Teutonic 
origin. The walls of this Hall are adorned with frescoes, 
very appropriately representing the gloomy and fantastic 
mythology of the northern nations. Here may be seen 
the representations of the fabulous Odin, and his wife 
Hertha. Here in all its gorgeousness is a representation 
of the Walhalla, or Northern Paradise, the residence of 
those heroes who fell in battle; 

" "Where from the flowing bowl 
Deep drinks the warrior's soul." 

And in contrast with this, startling in its horrors, is a 
representatiop of the Helheim, or infernal regions, the 
final abode of cowards. In another portion of this Hall 
are unfolded the wonders of fairy-land — Titania dancing 
with her elves by moonlight, or sporting by sylvan lakes, 
embosomed in valleys rich with all the verdure, and glow- 
ing in the amber atmosphere of Paradise. 

Descending a grand marble stairgase leading from this 



MUSEUMS. 197 

Hall, you come to a splendid enclosure, supported by rich 
columns of Italian marble, with a floor most beautifully 
tesselated. On every side mythological frescoes, classical in 
design, exquisite in coloring, and admirable in execution,' 
painted by the pupils of Kaulbach, after his designs, look 
down upon you from the walls. Descending still another 
marble staircase, you come to what is known as the Egyp- 
tian Court-yard, lighted from above. The pillars sup- 
porting the roof are copies from those in the Temple 
of Karnac, while the shafts represent Egyptian deities. 
The centre of this court yard is also occupied by huge 
figures of Egyptian deities. The walls are adorned with 
frescoes, representing the wonderful architecture of this 
most singular people. No one who has paid any attention 
to architectural study, can doubt, when he looks upon the 
capitals of Egyptian columns^ whether the Greeks origi- 
nated the Corinthian or the Doric. Here we have the 
Temple of Dendara — the Memnon Statues at Thebes — 
the Temple at Karnac — the Temple at Ipsambul, and the 
Pyramids of Meroe. 

Passing from this Egyptian Court, you enter an apart- 
ment with the ceiling supported by a double row of columns 
representing the buds of the Lotus, while the walls are 
covered with scenes illustrative of the domestic life of the 
Egyptians. 

The Historical Saloon contains numerous statues of 
Egyptian Kings and Princes, and other historical perso- 
nages \ whilst the walls are covered with copies from the 
various sculptures of palaces and temples. All around 
this chamber are immense cases, containing necklaces, ear 
rings, and rings of gold, coins, scaribei, and other curiosi- 
ties, worn as ornaments, and circulated in Egypt more than 

three thousand years ago. 
r2 



198 rOREI&N ETCHINGS. 

But the most interesting Chamber is the Hall of Egyp- 
tian tombs. These tombs were brought from the banks 
of the Nile, at an enormous cost. Here is the tomb of a 
dignitary, who figured at the Court of King Cheops — and 
there one of a Priestess, who from the date must have 
been contemporary with Moses^ when in Egypt. In this 
large Hall and the one adjoining, are collected the mortal 
remains of many an Egyptian, from the baby of a week 
old, to those of the aged Priest of Isis. In no collection 
are there to be seen so many mummies in such wonderful 
preservation. In many instances they are unrolled, and 
lay in their glass covered cases — regular dried specimens 
of the humanity of Egypt. On the arm of the mummy 
of one of the Priestesses of Apis, I noticed, a broad heavy 
bracelet of gold, while two rings of emerald still glittered 
on her fingers. Here also may be seen immense stone 
Sarcophagi, covered with most elaborate sculpture, where 
for centuries, distinguished Egyptians had slept in quiet, 
until Teutonic curiosity summarily ejected them, and 
brought tbeir last earthly covering to adorn this northerji 
Museum. In an another chamber may be seen a great 
number of mummied cats, so sacred in the eyes of Egyp- 
tians. They form a curious array to be sure, with their 
blackened heads thrust out from the bandages by which 
they are encompassed. By their side, heaps upon heaps, 
are mummies of the Ibis, the sacred bird of Egypt. 

In another part of the new Museum are magnificent 
Halls, devoted to exhibitions of originals and copies 
from the finest specimens of Grecian and Roman art^ 
with walls adorned by appropriate frescoes, that carry you 
back in imagination^ to stand upon the classic soil of 
ancient Attica, in the midst of her monuments of art, or 



CHAMBER OF ART. 199 

where the Land of the Ca3sars still manifests the impress 
of imperial power and munificence. 

In the old Schloss, in the very topmost room, is the 
Kuntskammer or Chamber of Art, to which entrance is 
had by special permission. This contains a great number 
of curious things, and is soon to be removed to the new 
Museum. The Historical Collection is more particularly 
interesting, as illustrating the character and lives of re- 
markable men. It contains the model of a wind-mill made 
by Peter the G-reat, with his own hands, while working as 
a ship carpenter in Holland. The hus.'-ar dress and cap, 
surmounted with a black eagle's wing, worn by the cele- 
brated Prussian General, Ziethen. Two cannon balls, 
each, with one side flattened, said to have met in mid-air 
at the siege of Madgebourg. Some of the relics preserved 
here are peculiarly national, such as a cast taken from the 
face of Frederick the Grreat after death — truly a most re- 
pulsive sight; the bullet which wounded him at the 
battle of Rosbach, in 1T60; a wax figure of the same 
King clothed in the very uniform he last wore. The coat 
is rusty-looking, and threadbare, the scabbard of the 
sword is mended with sealing wax, by his own hands. 
His books and walking cane; his favorite flute all tied 
up with pack-thread, are carefully preserved here, along 
with his pocket handkerchief, the filthiest, tattered, 
patched rag that ever bore the name, and which would 
have been discarded by Carew, '^ King of the Beggars. '^ 
Opposite this figure of Frederick, in a glass case, are the 
stars, orders and decorations, presented by the difi'erent 
Sovereigns of Europe to Bonaparte; one of the most con- 
spicuous being the Prussian Black Eagle. These were 
taken by the Prussians^ when they captured his carriage 



200 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

at Waterloo^ from "wliicli he escaped so hurriedly that he 
left his hat behind^ which also is preserved here. Not far 
off are Blucher's orders. Then may be noticed a cast in 
wax from the face of Morean, taken shortly after his death 
at Dresden, There was an interest attached to this. 
The ruins of his country seat at Morris ville, opposite Tren- 
ton, I had often seen. Plere he resided for a number of 
years until his return, Coriolanus like, to fight against his 
country. He was a brave man, an able officer, and one 
whose military ability Napoleon held in high esteem. The 
story of his death is a curious one. Moreau was in the 
midst of a group of officers, and by the side of the Empe- 
ror Alexander, when a ball shattered both his legs, pass- 
ing entirely through, the body of his horse. That ball 
came from one of the batteries of the Young Guard. 
Napoleon had observed that their battery slackened fire, 
and sent to enquire the cause. The answer returned was, 
that the guns were placed too low, and so the effect of the 
fire was lost. Fire on nevertheless, said the Emperor, we 
must occupy the enemy's attention at that point. The 
fire was immediately resumed, and a very extraordinary 
movement of the group of officers and commanders on the 
hill, told the practiced eye of Napoleon, that a person of high 
rank had been struck. The next morning a peasant brought 
the account that a distinguished officer had been wounded, 
having both his legs shattered by a ball, but could not 
tell his name. But he had with him the favorite dog of 
the officer, and Napoleon looking for the name of the 
owner on the collar, found that of Moreau. *^See !" said he, 
to several officers, ''the finger of Providence is here." 
Moreau submitted to the amputation of both his limbs, 
coolly smoking a segar during to the operation : but he 



CHAMBER OF ART. 



201 



died shortly after from exhaustion, and at his own request 
his legs were buried on the field, and his body was laid in 
a vault, in one of the Churches of St. Petersburg. There 
is also in the collection, a cast in wax from the face of the 
Prussian Queen Louisa, serenely beautiful even in death. 
Among the most curious things in this Museum, are the 
enormous number of well-used tobacco pipes, once belong- 
ing to the brutal old father of Frederick the Great. But 
the list would be endless, were we to mention in detail all 
the curious things preserved here. Art has left her trea- 
sures, which indicate to the observer the magic skill 
and ingenuity of Durer, Vicher and Angelo. Figures 
exquisitely carved in wood, ivory and bronze, cups and 
vases enriched with bas-reliefs, and glittering with precious 
stones — hunting horns rare with carved devices, and 
reliquaries rich in enamelling, are gathered here in rich 
profusion. When this collection is removed to the new 
Museum, it is to be hoped that there will be more method 
pursued in its arrangement. It contains some memorabilia 
worthy of preservation ; and properly methodized, it will 
be a valuable addition to that treasure-house of Art. 

The Arsenal, is a huge building, dating back for its 
origin, to the latter part of the seventeenth century. It is 
covered with sculptured devices, and emblematic figures 
look down upon you from its roof. It is a perfect Military 
Museum, containing some of the leather guns used by 
Gustavus in the thirty years' war — Turkish pieces, and a 
complete assortment of fire arms, from those used at the 
first invention of gunpowder, down to the improvements 
of the present day. Against the walls and pillars of 
one of the chambers containing a hundred thousand stand 
of arms, are suspended myriads of French flags, some taken 



202 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

during the wars of the Revolution, and some captured by 
the Prussians at Paris, in 1815 ; besides an immense num- 
ber of musketS; and several pieces of artillery taken at the 
same period. 

We were fortunate enough to spend Christmas in Berlin. 
It is the great festival of Germany. For weeks the note 
of preparation had been sounding. The stores were dressed 
in their gayest attire, and radiant with glitter and show. 
The pipe shops, in a place tuliere everything smokes hut 
the chimneys, form as a matter of course, a gay feature of 
the scene. They are filled with perfect pyramids of 
porcelain pipe-heads, ornamented most exquisitely with 
paintings, and some of them bringing almost fabulous 
prices. Here too you may observe pipes of beautiful amber, 
amber mouth-pieces, smoking caps tastefully embroidered, 
tobacco pouches braided in gold and silver, and all the 
paraphernalia belonging to a habit which has made smok- 
ing a national necessity. The confectioners' shops, are also 
at this season full of sweet things, made with strange de- 
vices, for next to tobacco, does the German love cakes and 
sweet-meats. Every day on the Linden at the hour of 
noon, 3'ou will find these confectioneries filled with well- 
dressed people, sipping the luscious chocolate, or partaking 
of the rich cake, or still richer pastry, which the German 
baker delights in preparing. For weeks before Christmas 
these confectioneries are filled with cakes of every form 
and device, done in sugar and chocolate — figures in the 
costumes of all nations, and animals of every kind and 
description. But the most curious and interesting sight 
of all were the booths or fair stalls. For several days before 
Christmas — the large squares both in front and behind 



CHRISTMAS. 203 

the old Palace, and every street radiating from these 
squares were filled with thousands of fair stalls. They 
are wooden booths,- roofed over and floored. Nothing 
can exceed the extensive assortment of children's toys they 
display. It really seems as if the renowned Santa Claus, 
exhibited the rich and varied stores of his treasure-house 
to the wondering eyes of happy children. Here too are 
immense numbers of Christmas trees, and as they come 
into town from the country, the long trains of wagons that 
carry them, seem to rehearse the story of 

" Birnam forest, come to Dunsinane." 

Some of these Christmas trees are merely the rough tops 
of the fir-tree just as they are brought from the forest — 
others again are planted in large boxes of earth, and sur- 
rounded at the foot with little gardens — others are glit- 
tering in gold and silver leaf, having the body and 
branches wound round with silver and gold wire. On 
Christmas eve, no house in Grermany is without its Christ- 
mas tree. It is the hour of rejoicing, and round every 
hearthstone from the palace to the cottage gather happy 
and bright faces. It is with them the evening when the 
Christ child enters every portal, bearing in his hands gifts 
for good children. What a beautiful superstition is that 
of the Christ Kindchen, or Christ child? There is a 
radiance about the brow of the holy infant most beautiful 
in its associations, to the simple and loving heart of the 
little child. There is an electric chain of sympathy that 
binds that heart to the Christ child, who a child once 
more, is full of appreciating love for little children. The 
following translation of a German poem embodies beauti- 
fully the character of the Christ Kindchen : " See there 



204 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

runs a stranger child, oh how swiftly through the city, 
on Christmas eve to see the beautiful lights that are flash- 
ing from many a Christmas tree. He stops before every 
house, and sees the bright rooms, in which boldly stand 
out the lampful trees. Woe is to the poor child every- 
where. He weeps and says, ^to-night every child has its 
little tree, its light and joy — I alone have none. In this 
strange land I am forgotten. Will no one let me come in, 
and just afford me room for my cold feet ? In all these bright 
houses, is there no corner for the stranger child?' He 
knocks at a door, but there is no voice to answer; no 
kindly hand to welcome. Every father thinks of his 
own chiildren, and every mother is busy about the gifts. 
Then said the little stranger, '0 dear and holy Christ, I 
have no father, no mother, if thou art not these to me ! 
Be thou my counseller, for here am I forgotten.' He rubs 
his cold hands, he lingers in the long desolate streets, 
with his eyes cast up to heaven. But look ! there comes 
up yonder street, waving a light before him, another child 
in smooth white raiment, and hair that clusters in golden 
ringlets round his fair young brow. How musical is his 
voice when he says, ' I am the Holy Christ — again I am 
once more a child, always on this happy evening. Though 
all forget thee, I will never forget thee. I oifer my pro- 
tection as well in the streets, as in the lighted houses. 
Thy light little stranger, I will cause to shine in the open 
space so fair, that none in the rooms shall be brighter.' 
Then waved the Christ child his hand towards heaven, 
and forth stood glittering overhead with many branches, a 
shining tree glorious with a host of stars. Bright little 
angels bent down from the branches, and drew up the 
poor child into the starry space, and so was he ever with 
the Christ child." 



CHRISTMAS. 205 

Now how much more beautiful and significant is this 
lovely creation of "the Christ Child/' than our rude and 
tasteless Santa Claus, who is nothing more than a kind of 
annual chimney sweep, or rather half chimney sweep, 
half Jew pedlar. The Christmas legends of Germany, 
have all an appropriateness to the great festival to he 
celebrated. It is the eve of the Saviour's birth, whose 
advent Grabriel himself came down too to tell, whose 
natal morn was greeted by the angel hosts^ in strains 
of more than mortal melody. As he grew in years; 
love for little children was a distinguishing trait in 
iiis serenely beautiful character. He never allowed an 
opportunity to pass, that he did not bless them, or improve 
tTieir presence to his disciples by some beautiful allusion. 
If he set a little child in their midst, it was only to exclaim, 
*^ unless ye be converted and become as little children, ye 
shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. '' And when 
he rebuked his disciples who would have kept them away, 
it was only to utter those sublime words, which have so 
often refreshed the heart of the stricken mother — " Suffer 
little children to come"uDto Me, and forbid them not, for 
of such is the Kingdom of Heaven." Therefore, how 
strikingly beautiful, and how appropriate to the festive 
season is this German legend, that the gentle Saviour once 
more becoming a little child, comes on the eve of Christ- 
mas to every hearthstone, and places on the shining 
Christmas tree those gifts, which make the heart of the 
German child so happy, and add fresh lustre to his won- 
dering eyes, 
s 



CHAPTEH XIV. 

THE ENVIRONS OF BERLIN. 

Charlottenburg— Mausoleum to the Queen of Prussia — Her His- 
tory — Potsdam — Tomb of Frederick the Great — The New Pa- 
lace — Sans Souci — Death of Frederick the Great. 

The pretty little village of Charlottenburg, witli its 
country-seats and picturesque looking avenues, is about 
three miles from Berlin. Passing through the Branden- 
burg Gate, you arrive at the village after a pleasant ride 
for the most part of the way through the spacious avenue 
dividing the Thier Garten, which stretches almost to Char- 
lottenburg. Thore is an air of elegance and a character 
of aristocracy about this village. In the summer season 
it is a favorite resort of the citizens of Berlin. The palace 
built here was erected by Frederick I., who married an 
English princess, Sophia Charlotte, daughter of George I., 
and gave the. name to the place in compliment to his wife; 
although this, I believe, was the only compliment he ever 
paid her. The gardens behind the Palace are very exten- 
sive, and laid out with great taste and beauty. The en- 
trance to them is through the orangery, at the extremity 
of which may be seen the graceful front of a small theatre, 
where plays are performed for the summer diversion of 
their majesties. These beautiful gardens are open to the 
public, and as they abound in shady walks, varied by arti- 
ficial lakes, afford a delightful shelter and place of amuse- 
ment to the citizens of Berlin during the heat of the 
summer months. Some of these lakes abound in carp of 



CHARLOTTENBURa. 207 

immense size and great age, many of them having passed 
their hundredth year. On the occasion of my visit, one 
of these venerable denizens was pointed out to me, wearing 
a bell round his neck, said to have been placed there by 
the father of Frederick the Great. He had received one 
of the three warnings, being stone blind ; but his hearing 
was evidently acute, as he was guided to the bread thrown 
in the water by the noise made when it fell; and as for 
his appetite, it appeared equally voracious with that of his 
younger brethren. The greatest object of interest however 
to be found in the grounds belonging to this Palace is the 
Mausoleum, where repose the remains of Louisa, Queen of 
Prussia, and those of her weak but unfortunate husband. 
You come suddenly upon a white Doric temple, that might 
be deemed a mere adornment of the grounds — a spot sacred 
to seclusion : but the presence of the mournful cypress, 
and the weeping willow, declare it to be the habitation of 
the dead. In this temple, so solemn by the subdued light 
of its interior, on a marble sarcophagus, reclines a sculp- 
tured figure of the Queen. It is a portrait statue, and is 
said to be a perfect resemblance, not as she was in death, 
but when she lived to bless, and to be blessed. Nothing 
can be more calm and kind than the expression of the 
features. The hands are folded on the bosom, the limbs 
are sufficiently crossed to show the repose of life. She 
does but sleep ; indeed, she scarce can be said to sleep, for 
her mind and heart are on her sweet lips. One could 
sit soothed for hours by the side of this marble form — it 
breathes such purity and peace. A simple drapery, perfect 
in every fold, shrouds the figure. Louisa is said to have 
been the the most beautiful woman of her day — and one 
can readily believe it, looking down upon this noble effort 
of the sculptor's skill, which radiant with beauty as it is, 



208 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

scarcely does full justice to tlie lovely features of Queen 
Louisa. The history of this unfortunate Princess is a 
most interesting and affecting one. She said of herself, 
shortly before her death: "Posterity will not set down my 
name among celebrated women, but whoever knows the 
calamities of these times will say of me^ she suffered much, 
and suffered with constancy. And may aftertimes be able 
to add, she gave birth to children who deserved better 
days, who struggled to bring them round, and at last suc- 
ceeded.'' What a life of startling vicissitude was hers ! 
How full of heart-stirring incident ! What sufferings she 
endured ! What resolution she displayed in the midst of 
her misfortunes ! What recuperative energy she brought 
to bear after every defeat! All these have been written 
of her, and to her honor in the pages of Prussian history. 
It was the influence of this noble-minded woman, every 
inch a Queen, that brought Prussia into the field in 1806 ; 
and it was the ignominy and scorn heaped upon her by 
an insolent conqueror, that made every corner of Prussia 
burn with unextinguishable hate against the French. 
Trusting in the courage and energy of the nation, she 
accompanied the King to the army, but retired to a place 
of safety immediately after the battle of Jena, so disas- 
trous to the Prussians. Before that battle she parted with 
her husband in tears, and they never met again in happi- 
ness. Suffering in mind and body she went down to Tilsit 
during the negociations that followed, much it is said, 
against her own inclinations; but she hoped by the charm 
of her presence that, the heart of the conqueror might be 
softened, that conqueror who had insolently declared 
in ten years his dynasty would be the oldest in Europe. 
That interview resulted however in nothing except to extort 
from Napoleon a tribute to the Queen, which coming 



QUEEN or PRUSSIA. 209 

from so keen an observer of character, has great weight. 
Speaking of that interview, Napoleon once said, ^'The 
Queen of Prussia unquestionably possessed talents, great 
information, and singular acquaintance with affairs ; she 
was the real sovereign for fifteen years. In truth, in spite 
of my address and utmost efforts, she constantly led the 
conversation, returned with pleasure to her subject, and 
directed it as she chose, but still with so much tact and 
judgment, it was impossible to take offence.'' Contempo- 
rary reports would indicate that Napoleon at this interview 
treated the poor Queen with unfeeling insolence. " The 
object of my journey. Sire," said she, "is to prevail on 
you to grant Prussia an honorable peace.'' "How" 
replied the conqueror, " could you think of going to war 
with me ?" and the answer of the Queen was modest and 
humble — "It was allowable that the fame of the Great 
Frederick should lead us to overrate our strength, if we 
have overrated it." After this interview her health failed 
her, but she lived long enough to witness the degradation 
of the monarchy. Her last dying words to her husband 
and children, were, " when I am gone, you will weep for me, 
as I myself have wept for poor Prussia : but you must act 
— free your people from the degradation in which they 
lie, and prove yourselves worthy of the blood of the Great 
Frederick." And they listened to that dying request. 
They did act so as to save the country. After the retreat 
of the French from Russia, the King gave the signal. 
He told his subjects he wanted men; he wanted money; 
and like the fruit from the dragon's teeth, armed men 
sprang as it were from the ground. The enthusiasm was 
universal, and animated all classes. No age, no sex seemed 
to be exempt from this influence. The ladies sent their 

jewels and their ornaments to the treasury to be sold foi: 

2s 



210 roRETGN etchings: 

the public service. They received in return, rings, crosses, 
and ornaments of iron, with the inscription in German, 
"Ich gab Grold mm Eisenj'^ (I gave gold for iron,) and to 
this day many a Prussian family points to them as their 
most precious heir-looms. "When the bristling lines of the 
Prussians were first revealed to the startled gaze of Napo- 
leon at Waterloo, when he thought he had his enemy in 
his grasp; we wonder if he did not see the shade of Louisa, 
like another Nemesis, leading them on to his overthrow. 

But to return from this digression. The Palace at 
Charlottenburg contains nothing very remarkable to those 
familiar with the interior of English palaces. Long suites 
of rooms ornamented with paintings and sculpture; an 
immense ball-room with an inlaid floor of polished oak, 
lighted by four huge chandeliers of rock crystal; a large 
apartment filled from ceiling to floor with rare specimens 
of china, most exquisitely painted; are the most remark- 
able localities in this favorite retreat of Prussian royalty. 

Potsdam is about an half hour's ride by railway from 
Berlin. It is a forlorn looking spo#, fast going to decay, 
but still retaining traces of its former magnificence, when 
Frederick the Great endeavored to make it one of the finest 
towns in Europe. It exhibits fine wide streets, but the 
grass grows in the footways, and hardly a human being is 
to be seen, except a few of the lounging military. Its 
location is a very picturesque one ; the river Havel upon 
which it is located here expanding into a Lake. After 
witnessing the morning parade of a few Prussian soldiers, 
we passed over the Square, to visit the Garrison Kirche, 
or Church of the Garrison, where repose the remains of 
the Great Frederick. The vault is on a level with the 
floor of the Church, and is directly behind the pulpit. 
This vault con^tains also the sarcophagus holding the 



POTSDAM. 211 

remains of the fatter of the King, that stern, eccentric 
old monarch, no less a devotee than a soldier; but whose 
devotion was limited to external practices, and who thought 
it not the smallest barm, to treat his children, his servants^ 
and his subjects, as a groom treats his horses, or a corsair 
his slaves. The vault is arched at the ceiling, and very- 
plain; the sarcophagi of the monarchs rest upon the floor 
on the right and left as you enter. One cannot help 
recalling as he stands in this chamber of the mighty dead, 
that interesting midnight scene ; when in this very vault, 
and over that bronze sarcophagus, the Emperor Alexander, 
and the King of Prussia joined hands, and swore eternal 
friendship and alliance — an alliance which ultimately 
wrought such wonders for Europe. And here but a 
twelvemonth after, their conqueror Napoleon stood where 
they had thus plighted their faith, and bowing his knee, 
exclaimed, as he gazed upon the coffin of the Great 
Frederick, '^hadst thou been alive, I never should have 
been here ;'' and then rising, basely stole the sword and 
scarf of the hero, and the standards of his Guards, beneath 
whose shadow he reposed. It was a base deed, 

" It was a grievous fault, 
And grievously hath Cae&ar answered it." 

How much more honorable and magnanimous the conduct 
of that Russian officer, who seeing the monument erected 
at Cologne, to commemorate the battle of Austerlitz, 
simply engraved below the inscription, "Seen and ap» 
proved by the Russian Governor of Cologne, 1814.'' Un- 
fortunately all traces of this sword have been lost. It is 
said that just before the entry of the Allies into Paris, 
Joseph Bonaparte commanded these flags to be burnt,. 



212 rOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

and the sword of Frederick broken. On each side of the 
vault, now hang the eagles and standards taken by the 
Prussians from Napoleon at Waterloo — a fitting retribu- 
tion, and an atonement to the shade of their great hero, for 
so grievous an insult. "When these captured standards 
surmounted by their eagles, are pointed out, care is always 
taken to make the stranger understand that they are here 
suspended as trophies of the vengeance Prussia took upon 
the violator of her mighty monarch's grave. 

The New Palace, which is about two miles from Pots- 
dam, is a huge ungainly brick edifice, built by the Great 
King after his seven years' war, and was erected in a spirit 
of bravado. His adversaries fully supposed, that after so 
long and expensive a war, his financial resources must be 
completely exhausted. "I will show them," said the 
brave monarch, 'Hhat an exhibition of true patriotism 
never exhausts a national treasury." And so in this 
defiant spirit, he built this huge structure to exhibit the 
recuperative energies of Prussia. It contains in all seventy- 
two apartments. One large saloon, with a total disregard 
of good taste, is decorated from floor to ceiling, with shells 
of every hue, wrought into the most elegant devices, 
intermingled here and there with rich specimens of amber, 
rubies, cornelians, emeralds, and other precious stones. 
In this Saloon hang four immense chandeliers of rock 
crystal, which When lighted must produce a magnifi- 
cent effect with the blaze of the numerous lights reflected 
from polished shells and shining minerals. In this Palace 
you are 'shown the range of apartments occupied by 
Frederick during his life time, and they are preserved in 
the same order they were left at his death. Passing 
through a long gallery, you enter the chambers once occu- 



SANS SOUCI. 213 

pied by the King. There may he seen his writing tables, 
smeared with ink — his music stand^ and book-cases filled 
with books, many of them works in the French language. 
There are the chairs and sofas, on which he was wont to 
sit, with their faded covers torn by the claws of his favo- 
rite dogs, who were always his companions. Napoleon 
visited all these rooms, and paid the most scrupulous 
regard to the arrangements, not permitting anything to 
be disturbed, with the exception of one or two pictures, 
which he sent to Paris. 

To the west of Potsdam, are the Palace and gardens of 
Sans Souci. The Gardens are laid out in the stiff, formal 
French style, with alleys and cut hedges. The Palace 
stands at the extremity of the broad avenue. It occupies 
the summit of a series of terraces rising one above the 
other, like a grand stair-case. This Palace was a favorite 
resort of the King — and it was here Voltaire had his apart- 
ments during his literary intimacy with the Prussian 
monarch. His apartments are still pointed out, and are 
directly under those occupied by the King. Here he 
associated with him in the most agreeable manner, reading 
with him the best works of either ancient or modern 
authors, and assisting the King in those literary pursuits 
by which he relieved the cares of government. But this 
intimacy appears to have been short lived, and the 
French philosopher found to his mortification, when it was 
too late, that, where a man is sufficiently rich to be master 
of himself, neither his liberty, his family, or his country, 
should be sacrificed for a pension. Voltaire in speaking 
of his brief residence at Sans Souci, says : " Astofa did 
not meet a kinder reception in the Palace of Alcina. To 
be lodged in the same apartment>s that Marshal Saxe had 



214 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

occupied, to have the royal cooks at my command, when I 
chose to dine alone, and the royal coachman when I had 
an inclination to ride, were trifling favors. Our sappers 
were very agreeable. If I am not deceived, I think we 
had much wit. The King was witty, and gave occasion 
of wit to others/' This state of things was too pleasant 
to last long. The poet and philosopher gives himself the 
hest account of the cause of the sudden estrangement. He 
ascribes it to this incident. '^ One La Metric, a physician, 
an atheist, and the King's reader, told his majesty one 
day, that there were persons exceedingly jealous of my 
favor and fortune. ^Be quiet awhile,' said the King, ^we 
squeeze the orange, and throw it away when we have swal- 
lowed the juice.' La Metric did not forget to repeat to 
me this fine apothegm, worthy Dionysius, of Syracuse. 
From that time I determined to take all care of the 
orange peel." And the poet was as good as his word. 
A sarcasm of Voltaire's in reference to the King's bad 
poetry, reached the royal ears, a quarrel was the result, 
and the opportunity was seized by the disgusted French, 
man to leave. Then it was he took refuge at Ferney, 
near Geneva, which he only left to have a brief triumph 
at Paris, then to sink into the tomb. 

In the rear of the Palace is a semi-circular colonnade, 
within which, when the infirmities of his last sickness 
bowed him down, the greatest monarch of his day was 
accustomed to take exercise. His decline was gradual and 
easy. He never lost the vigor of his mind, but continued 
every inch a King. At last to the semi-circular colonnade 
the old warrior was brought out in his arm chair, sur- 
rounded by his favorite dogs, to bask in the sun. "I 
shall be nearer him by-and-bye," said he, as he gazed 



SANS SOUCI 215 

towards the luminary, and these were nearly his last 
words. At the extremity of the terrace may be seen the 
graves of his favorite war-horse and dogs, by whose side 
he desired in his will that he should be buried ; but for once 
they disregarded his wishes — and his remains were carried 
to the Garrison Church, to rest by the side of those of his 
brutal old Father. As they were borne through the iron 
gate of this colonnade, it was locked, and has never been 
opened since. The wind-mill erected by Frederick for the 
miller, is still here, and in the possession of his direct de- 
scendants. It stands very close to the Palace, and throws its 
long arms around, as if in a defiant spirit. In enlarging 
his grounds at Sans Souci, the King came in conflict with 
a poor miller, whose wind-mill covered the land the 
monarch desired to include in his gardens. The peasant 
with great spirit resisted the encroachment, and appealing 
to the Courts of Justice, was sustained. Such was the 
King's admiration for the energy and boldness with which 
the poor peasant had entered the lists against him, in defence 
of his rights of property, that he erected the present mill 
for him ; and some few years since, one of the family being 
in adverse circumstances, offered to sell it to the late King, 
but he refused, and most nobly sent him the sum requisite 
to relieve him from embarrassment, telling him that his 
mill was part and parcel of the national history of Prussia. 
The Prince of Prussia has a most charming country 
palace near Potsdam^ which strongly reminds one of the 
elegant country mansions of the English nobility. The 
interior is fitted up with that consummate taste, and sim- 
ple elegance, to be found in all the Palaces of this Prince. 
A leisurely survey of the beauties to be seen within this 
elegant abode, finished a day of sight-seeing at Potsdam. 



PART II. 



' RECOLLECTIOISrS 



OF THE 



-A^KTTIGiTJITIES OIF IX-A.2L.^r- 



PART II. 

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE 



CHAPTER L 

NAPLES AND POMPEIL 

Porto D'Anzio — Voyage to Naples— Appearance of Naples — Con- 
fusion of its Streets — Pompeii — Its Destruction — Present ap- 
pearance of the Streets and Buildings. 

It was late in the afternoon when we arrived at Porto 
d'Anzio after a tedious ride over tlie Campagna from Rome. 
This port on the Mediterranean is interesting from the 
fact, that it occupies the site once covered by the world- 
renowned Antium, the great naval station of the Romans. 
Here Coriolanus stood in the palace of his enemy, and 
vowed vengeance against his ungrateful countrymen. 

"A goodly city is this Antium: City! 

'Tis I that made thy widows; many an heir 

Of these fair edifices 'fore my wars 

Have I heard groan and drop; then know me not 

Lest that thy wives with spits, and boys with stones 

In puny battle slay me." 

It was also the birth-place of the monster Nero, and the 
remains of the moles he constructed^ are still to be seen 
here. It is now a desolate-looking spot, where, 

" In many a heap the ground 
Heaves, as though Ruin in a frantic mood 
Had done its utmost." 



220 rOREIGN ETCHIxNGS. 

Sand-heaps now cover the fragments of ruined palaces and 
temples ; for Antium in the days of its glory boasted of 
much architectural magnificence. 

It was late in the evening when we left the little port, 
to dare in a frail-looking steamer, the perils of darkness, 
and perhaps encounter the eapriciousness of the treache- 
rous Mediterranean. 

The next morning, with ths bright sun of Italy dancing 
on the wave, and the soft vernal air of that delicious clime 
fanning the brow, we found ourselves entering the far-famed 
Bay of Naples — passing close to the bold headland of 
Misenum, rendered so memorable by the muse of Yirgil. 
In the distance could be seen the graceful curve of the 
Eaian shore. Time and volcanic action have left their 
traces upon it, but in all the natural surroundings, the 
shores of Baia remain as enchanting and lovely as ever. 
Horace, who was no mean judge of natural beauty, thought 
no place in the world so perfectly enchanting as the 
Baian shore. Here the greatest and wealthiest of 
the Romans erected their charming villas; and when 
the narrow shores could no longer supply sites for their 
luxurious retreats, built moles and foundations into the 
sea ; exhausting regal fortunes that they might possess a 
dwelling in this earthly Paradise. Here rose the villas 
of Pompey, Marius and Csesar — here the young Marcellus 
died, to whose untimely fate, Virgil so touchingly alludes. 
This was Martial's "golden shore of Baia, and blessed 
Yenus :'' and still does the graceful ruin of the beautiful 
temple of the goddess adorn it, and arrest the stranger's 
attention. And there too, just in the centre of the grand 
sweep of the magnificent Bay as it bends towards Baia, is 
the modern town of Pozzuoli, siill erowned with the 



NAPLES. 221 

ruins of the little Greek town from which it sprung. Ite 
was famous in the annals of Imperial Rome ; and is cele- 
brated as the spot; where the brave Apostle of the Gentiles, 
who combined a woman's softness, with the energy of a 
lion, a prisoner and in bonds, "tarried for seven days as 
he went towards Rome." And there too is the far-famed 
grotto of Posilipo, and near it on the side of that shady 
ravine, the quiet spot, where rest the ashes of the great 
Mantuan Bard. 

# * # « A fabric lone and gray, 
That boasts no pillars rich, nor friezes gay j 
An ilex bends above its moss clad walls; 
In long festoons the dark green ivy falls, 
And pale-eyed flowers in many a crevice bloom, 
'Tis there he sleeps — that cell is Virgil's tomb." 

The entire coast from Pozzuoli to Misenum is covered 
with the ruins of baths, temples, theatres, moles and villas, 
of ancient date. Here it was in the country round as the 
ancients used to relate, " Bacchus and Ceres contended for 
the mastery .'' Not a cliflF but flings upon the wave some 
image of delight to muse on as your bark is gliding by. 

For some time we coasted along those enchanting shores, 
lined with villages and country houses gleaming from 
amidst orange groves and vineyards, until at length round- 
ing the beautiful cape of Posilipo, the city of Naples in 
all its brightness, burst upon our view, with its churches 
and palaces reflecting the rxiys of the morning sun, softened 
by the deep azure of the skies of the blessed Campania. 
Not a cloud was to be seen, save that which rested like a 
white wreath upon the summit of Vesuvius; and turning 
for a moment from the gay and lovely city, the mind 
became fixed on the black mountain, so deeply and so fear- 
t2 



222 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

fully associated with the history of this land and its inha- 
bitants — the only dark and threatening feature in the 
smiling and lovely scene before us. 

Far to the right, following the sweep of the Bay towards 
the lofty mountains, was Castella Mare, with Sorrento 
and Capo di Minerva, which in that direction mark the 
extreme limit of the graceful curve of the enchanting 
shore; while midway, as if to guard the entrance of this 
favored region, stands the beautiful Isle of Capri. It 
was indeed with justice the ancients fixed here the resi- 
dence of the S^ren Parthenope, and called the place after 
her name. As you look out upon the charming scene 
on every side, you cease to wonder that it became the 
favorite retreat of the great and wealthy of the Eomans ; 
aifld that here, subdued by the delicious and enervating 
climate, these Lords of the World forgot their greatness, 
and abandoned themselves to luxury and indolence. Here 
C?3sar forgot his ambition, and Yirgil sang, not " arms and 
the man," but allowing his muse to recreate in the soft 
and peaceful scenes arouud him^ tuned his rustic reeds to 
pastoral songs, and the ease and happiness of tha life of 
the husbandman. 

The Greek, the Koman, and the Goth, the Norman, and 
the Spaniard, charmed with its surprising, miraculous 
beauty, have each, in turn, possessed this favored land — 
until captivated by its pleasures, and losing by degrees 
the virtue and hardihood of their native character, the 
conquerors have been at length subdued, and confounded 
with the conquered, in the same general effeminacy and 
indolence^ which in all ages have distinguished the inha- 
bitants of this terrestrial Paradise, 

" In floral beauty fields and groves appear ; 

Man seems the only growth that dwindles here."' 



NAPLES. 223 

The City of Naples lies upon the margin of this beauti- 
ful Bay, in the form of a semicircle, and gradually spreads 
itself upon the acclivity behind, crowned by the Castle of 
St. Elmo, which overlooks the whole. The houses and 
streets rise one above the other, interspersed with gardens 
and trees. The palace on one of the heights, and the 
Nuovo Casteilo, with various other buildings in a castel- 
lated form, are exceedingly striking and picturesque as 
seen from the Bay. 

Such does Naples appear when taken as a whole — but 
when you have landed, and proceed to take the city in 
detail, its architecture will not bear comparison with that 
of the other capitals of Europe. Some of the churches, 
indeed, are striking to the eye, but only from their defor- 
mity. Within they are loaded with ornament to such a 
degree, that the very excess of decoration injures the 
building it was intended to beautify. The altars, more 
especially, display an exuberance of riches. There jasper, 
lapis lazuli, porphyry, and all sorts of rare marbles, are 
jumbled together, without the smallest regard to simplicity 
or taste. Show and-glittcr are the great objects of admi- 
ration — in fact, in Naples justly has it been observed^ 
that every thing is gilded, from the cupolas of the churches 
to the pills of the apothecary. 

London is noisy ; but compared with Naples, it is tran- 
quility itself. In London, the people pour along the great 
thoroughfares, in a steady and continuous stream, and at 
regular periods; Eastward^ or City ways, in the morning, 
and Westward, or homeward in the afternoon. But the 
vast and motley crowds of Naples whirl about in groups 
like eddies, or collect in crowds by the mere exigencies of 
their animal existence. Here, we come upon a mob, col- 



224 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

lected round a showman, screaming and gesticulating with 
delight — yonder is a crowd listening to some crack- 
brained, half-starved poet, who is reading from a dirty 
manuscript his verses. The principal street running 
through the heart of the city is the Toledo, and a very 
splendid and showy street it is. The shops are gay and 
gaudy, and the tide of human existence flows here in a 
noisy current, and stirs up the blood of its people with 
almost the same emotions as the upheavings of the moving 
fires of Vesuvius, or the swells of its beautiful sea, when 
the earthquake shakes the earth with its fearful vibrations. 
It would be difficult to imagine the eternal bustle and 
w'orry of this street. There is no pavement; and it is 
filled with all sorts of vehicles, driven at a mad and furious 
rate ; and if you do not keep a sharp look out, you may 
find yourself thrown from your perpendicular. Here you 
are swept on by the current — there you are wheeled 
round by the vortex — a diversity of trades dispute with 
you, the streets — you are stopped by a carpenter's bench; 
you are lost among shoemaker's shops; you dash among 
the pots of a macaroni stall — what a hubbub — what a 
variety of costumes ! It seems as if all sorts of people had 
come out to show themselves, and hold a rag fair. Those 
genteel people in that flaunting carriage, open at the top 
belong to the nobility; yonder comes a bevy of young 
priests, dressed in their long woollen robes, with three- 
cornered hats, and behind them walk a couple of fat 
and lazy friars. 

Any description of Naples would be incomplete, that did 
not introduce the countless fiacres, cabriolets, and carriages 
of all sorts, with the miserable animals that draw them. 
Neither could one give a complete idea of the noise and 
confusion of this singular City, without introducing the 



NAPLES. 225 

cries, and cracking of whips of their wild and excited 
drivers. All classes take to carriages here of some sort, 
and whirl about from one end of the City to another, with 
a mad rapidity which fairly astonishes and bewilders the 
stranger. The nobleman in his gaudy carriage, with 
lackeys in tawdry livery — officers in bright uniforms — 
priests in couples, and busy friars, to whom cleanliness, 
certainly was never great godliness — soldiers and buffoons, 
washer-women and lazzaroni ; all seem equally to regard 
carriage exercise as a thing essential to their very exist- 
ence. In the excitement, speed seems to be the main ob- 
ject, and the old Scotch proverb of '' De'il take the hind- 
most," the universal apprehension ; and for this the mer- 
ciless driver forgetful of the value of his horse (if such a 
looking scare-crow can have value,) belabors his lean and 
panting sides with a merciless perseverance that can only 
be witnessed at Naples. If there is a place on the earth's 
surfiice, where a society for the prevention of cruelty to 
animals should be forthwith organized, it is most certainly 
Naples. I have heard of the wit, who rebuked the cruelty 
of a London cab-driver by an humorous allusion to the 
transmigration of souls — '' That's right, my fine fellow, 
(quoth he) hit your animal harder, he was a cab-driver 
once himself, and deserves it all.'' This rebuke might 
be uttered every hour of the day, with more reason in 
Naples. 

Naples literally swarms with priests. It is said that 
there are at least six thousand; while with nuns and 
novitiates, the religious force amounts to more than ten 
thousand. Indeed priests and soldiers seem to be the 
controlling powers of the place. The lawyers number four 
thousand, and are a wealthy and highly influential class, 
having peculiar privileges — enjoying the oysters, and 



226 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

throwing the people the shells, and in consequence of the 
extreme length of the lawsuits, holding in their hands a 
large portion of the real estate. The nobles are opulent, 
and fond of display ; and the King is as complete a despot, 
and as great a fool as ever sat upon a throne. But it is 
the priests and friars especially, which attract the atten- 
tion of the traveler, for you cannot take a walk of half an 
hour in any of the principal streets, without meeting forty 
or fifty of them in their peculiar costume. Multitudes of 
friars, in their brown gowns, and black cowls with girdled 
waists and sandalled feet, may be seen gliding along the 
streets particularly in the morning, collecting from shops 
and stalls their daily revenue of charity. Some of the 
priests are exceedingly handsome men, very few look 
ascetic. Some are evidently good-natured, jolly, easy 
souls, who belong rather to the race of King Cole, than of 
Saint Anthony, fulfilling Thompson's idea of ^' the round 
fat oily man of Grod"' — while the great mass of the lower 
clergy are good-for-nothing fellows^ as much lazzaroni and 
beggars as any of the lowest of the rabble. In witnessing 
the noise and confusion of the streets of Naples, one i^ 
astonished to find so much life and activity in a people, 
so proverbial for their indolence and laziness. But what 
are they all about, whither are they rushing ? Have they no 
definite object — no particular motive for all this activity? 
As a general thing, no ! And thus day after day, they 
rush backward and forward from one extremity of the city 
to another, heedless of everything, and in their wild 
enjoyment of the present hour, the most reckless, trifling, 
and abandoned people under the sun. 

But one soon tires of the constant noise and excitement 
of this strange, restless city, and longs to fly from the stir 



POMPEII. 227 

and turmoil to the numerous and charming localities to be 
found in its immediate vicinity. 

But, chief above all, do you long to visit that memora- 
ble spot, Pompeii. This partially exhumed city is located 
about twelve miles from Naples, on the railway to Castella 
Mare, just where it branches off to Nocera. A hilloct, 
partly formed by the shower of ashes which buried, and 
now heaped still higher by the dirt thrown out from the 
excavations ; at the southern declivity of Vesuvius, and 
five miles from its base; marks the interesting locality, 
where 'antiquity was, as it were, caught alive. ^ For there, 
the progress of time and decay has been arrested, and we 
are admitted to the temples and theatres, and the domestic 
privacy of a people, who lived nearly two thousand 
years ago. 

"At a step. 
Two thousand years roll backward, and we stand 
Like those so long within that awful place, 
Immovable." 

If even the most doubtful ruin of antiquity appears clad 
with venerable grandeur, what rank shall we assign in the 
scale of interest to the site, where objects like that en- 
chanted city, in the Arabian Nights, were in one moment 
transfixed in their accidental situations : 

" Mark where within, as though the embers lived, 
The ample chimney vault, is dun with smoke j 
There dwelt a miller — ^silent and at rest 
His mill stones now, in old companionship, 
Still do they stand, as on the day he went. 
Each ready for its office. But he comes not. 
And there, hard by (whereon in idleness 
Hath stopped to scrawl a ship, an armed ma 
And in the tablet on the wall, we read of 



228 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

Shows ere long to be ;) a sculptor wrought 

Not meanly, blocks, half chiseled into life, 

Await his call. Here long, as still attests 

The trodden floor, an olive merchant drew 

From many an earthen jar, no more supplied. 

And here, from his, a vinter served his guests 

Largely, the stain of his o'erflowing cups 

Still fresh upon the marble; on that bench beneath, 

They sat, and quaffed, and looked on them that passed, 

Gravely discussing the last news from Rome." 

Pompeii was a little Greek town; of tolerable commerce 
in its early day. The Mediterranean sea, which once 
washed its walls — subsequently, from the effects of an 
earthquake, or some local convulsion, left it a mile and 
more away, in the midst of one of those delicious plains, 
made by nature for the complete extinguishment of all 
industry in the Italian dweller, and for the common places 
of poetry and prose, in all the northern abusers of the pen. 
It was ravaged by every barbarian, who in turn was called 
a conqueror — and was successively the pillage of Cartha- 
genian and Roman, until at last the Augustan age, wliich 
cast such radiance over Rome — saw it quieted into an 
effeminate, and luxurious Roman colony — and man, fearing 
to rob^ ceased to rob any more. 

When man had ceased his molestations, nature com- 
menced hers ; and this unfortunate little city was, by a 
curious fate to be extinguished, yet preserved — to perish 
suddenly from the face of the astonished Roman Empire, 
and live again when Rome was but a nest of sandalled 
monks, and superstitious mummers; and her Empire 
torn into fragments, by Turk, Russian, Austrian, Prussian, 
and a whole host of barbaric names, that once were as 
dust beneath her feet. 



POMPEII. 229 

In the year 63 of the Christian era, an earthquake 
manifested to the affrighted PompeianS; upon what a frail 
tenure they held their leases — whole streets were thrown 
down, columns started from their bases, statues fell from 
their pedestals; and to this day the traveler is shown the 
evidences of hasty repair, marking the first calamity. 

It was the first warning to that depraved and dissolute 
city, of the ^'bolt, red with uncommon wrath,'' soon to be 
launched with all its force, amid a fiery whirlwind of stones, 
lava, and ashes. On the 23d of August, in the year 
79, Vesuvius poured out his accumulation of terrors at 
once — and in the clearing away of the storm of fiery dust 
which covered Campania for four days — Pompeii, with all 
its living multitude — its magnificent temples, theatres, 
palaces and baths, its walls of arabesque, and columns, 
clustering in patrician splendor, had disappeared from the 
earth's surface ; and a smoking heap, was the grave of that 
buried city. 

The ancient Komans seem to have been as fond of villas 
as if every soul of them had made fortunes in Wall street: 
and the whole southern coast of Italy, like Staten Island, 
although far surpassing it in architectural magnificence, 
was studded with the summer palaces and iris-hued gar- 
dens of these masters of the world. The site of Vesuvius 
would now be rather a formidable foundation for a villa, 
whose owner might any morning, be found with his villa 
done to a turn, in a bed of hot ashes. But before the 
eruption that covered Pompeii with ashes, and Hercula- 
neum with lava, the mountain was asleep, and had never 
within the memory of the oldest inhabitant, rumbled, or 
flung up spark or stone. Its verdant slopes were then 

covered with elegant villas* and gardens. Martial has a 
u 



230 rOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

pretty epigram, in which lie gives us a view of Vesuvius^ 
as lie appeared before this terrible eruption : 

" Here verc'.ant vines o'erspread Vesuvius sides. 
The generous grape, here poured her purple tides. 
This Bacchus loved, beyond his native scene, 
Here dancing satyrs joyed to trip the green." 

To those who look upon Vesuvius now, grim, blasted, 
and lifting up his sooty forehead among clouds of perpe- 
tual smoke, the very throne of Pluto and Vulcan toge- 
ther; no force of fancy can picture what it must have 
been, when the Romans built their summer palaces and 
pavilions on its verdant slopes — a pyramid of more than 
three thousand feet — painted over with forest, garden, 
vineyard and orchard — zoned with colonnades, turrets, 
golden roofs, and marble porticoes, with the deep azure of 
the Campanian sky for its canopy, the classic Mediterranean 
washing its base; and the whole glittering in the colors of 
sunrise, noon and evening, like the "rich and high piled 
woof of Persia's looms,'' let down from the steps of some 
heaven-lifted and resplendant throne. 

All this magnificence was turned into cinders, lava, and 
hot water, in the year of the Christian era, 79. The hiss- 
ing streams of lava, like fiery snakes, ran hither and thither 
down the slopes of the mountain; scorching and consuming 
every thing in their glowing pathway — while the mountain 
hurled high in air the red hot lava, and the sulphurous 
ashes, with a noise that shook the very firmament. The 
entire continent throughout its northern and southern 
range, felt the vigorous awakening of the volcano. Imperial 
Home, hundreds of miles away, was covered with the ashes; 
of which Northern Africa, Egypt and Asia Minor received 
their full share — the sun was turned into blood, and the 



POMPEII. 231 

people very naturally thought that the end of the world 
had come. Well might Pliny the Younger say in his letter 
to the historian Tacitus, — "Nothing then was to be heard 
but the shrieks of women, the screams of children, and the 
cries of men. Some calling for their children, others for 
their parents; others for their husbands; and only distin- 
guishing each other by their voices : one lamenting his 
own fate, another that of his family — some lifting their 
hands to the gods; but the greater part imagining that 
the last and eternal night was come, which was to destroy 
the gods and the world together.^' 

At the close of this first fearful eruption, Vesuvius 
loomed forth, the grim-looking giant he is at this hour. The 
sky was stained with that white cloud, which still reposes 
like a halo on the mountain's scarred and shattered brow. 
The plain at his foot, where Herculaneum and Pompeii 
shone forth in all their beauty, was covered many feet deep, 
with a debris of ashes and lava, while the smoke of the 
country "went up as the smoke of a furnace.'^ 

All was at an end with the once busy, bustling cities 
below, the people were destroyed or scattered — their houses 
and homes buried. Robbers and malaria remained the 
sole tenants of the desolate spot, and in this way rolled 
many centuries over the bones and houses of the vinters, 
sailors, and snug citizens of these Yesuvian cities. But 
their time was to come, and the covering under which 
they had reposed so long was to be perforated by Neapoli- 
tan and French picks — their private haunts, and public 
places, visited by curiosity-mongers, and sketched, lectured, 
and written about^ until two-thirds of the world wished 
they had never been disturbed. 

The first discovery of the buried cities was purely acci- 



232 



FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 



dental, for no Neapolitan ever stuck spade into the ground 
on purpose, or in real earnest, or ever harbored a voluntary 
idea about any thing save of macaroni, intrigue, monkeys, 
hand-organs, and the gaming-table. The Neapolitan spade, 
thus accidentally feeling its way into the earth, struck 
upon a key— the key belonged to a door — the door bore 
an inscription — and the names of the buried cities were 
brought to light to the boundless perplexity of the learned, 
the merciless curiosity of ^'females, darkly, deeply, beau- 
tifully blue,^^ and to the exorbitant profit, of that whole 
rascal rout of guides, ciceroni, abbes, and antiquarians. 

But notwithstanding this discovery, the cities slumbered 
for twenty years more, until about the year 1711, a Duke 
digging for marbles, to burn in a mortar, with which to 
make lime, found a statue of an Hercules, a perfect heap 
of fractured beauties, a row of Grreek columns, and a small 
temple. Again, the cities slumbered, when in 1738, a 
King of Naples, upon whom " light may the earth rest,''' 
commenced digging in earnest at Pompeii, when streets, 
temples, and theatres, once more lay open to the sun. 

So few details of the original catastrophe are to be found 
in history, that we can scarcely estimate the actual amount 
of suffering, which is, after all, the only thing in this case, 
to be considered a misfortune. The population of Pompeii 
at least, and perhaps of Herculaneum, with some few 
exceptions, had time to make their escape with their 
property ; at least the most costly. A pedlar's pack, would 
I am certain, contain all the valuables in the way of gold, 
money and jewelry, found in Pompeii ; and the people who 
had thus time to clear their premises^ must have been 
most singularly fond of hazard, if they stood lingering 
long, beneath that fiery shower. 

Some melancholy evidences were, it is true, found;> to 



POMPEII. 233 

show that all were not so successful, or at least so prudent. 
And yet sixty skeletons are all that have been discovered, 
and certainly more than one third of the city has been 
excavated. 

In the excavations, made by the French, four female 
skeletons were found, lying together, with the ornaments, 
still upon their arms and fingers, and grasping in their \ 
fleshless gripe a few coins of gold and silver. 

In a wine vault, known by the jars ranged round its 
walls, close against the door, as if in the attitude of trying 
to force it open, stood a male skeleton, who had thus 
perished, in a vain effort to save himself from a death by 
suffocation, or the more lingering one of starvation. In 
a prison, or guard house, with their skeleton limbs still 
fast in the stocks, and their eyeless skulls peering out from 
their brazen helmets, sat six Pompeian soldiers, who had 
thus perished in a cruel companionship of misery. 

Beside the garden gate of the Villa of Diomed just be- 
yond the walls, two skeletons were discovered, one pre- 
sumed to be the master, from having in his hand the key 
(it the gate, the other stretched beside him, with some 
silver vases, probably a poor slave, charged with the trans- 
port of them. In the cellar, the skeletons of seventeen 
persons were found huddled together, who had here in vain 
sought an asylum from the fiery shower. From the cir- 
cumstance of one of those skeletons, that of a woman, being 
adorned with a necklace, and bracelets of gold, it has with 
good reason been supposed, that this was the mistress of 
the elegant mansion, and the print of her bosom as it 
pressed against the wall, may be seen, as if taken in plas- 
ter, in the halls of the Museo Borbonico at this day. 

Close to the gate of Herculaneum, in a niche, was found 
u2 



2Bi FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

the skeleton of a man, standing erect, with his armor ond 
helmet on, and spear in hand. It was the Roman sentinel 
at the city gate, faithful in death, as in life, a melancholy 
memento of the stern discipline of martial Rome : 

On — on, the human tides, rush through the gates, 
While the red mountain, blazing full in view. 
That Roman sentinel, doth contemplate: 
Motionless as a statue, thus he grew. 
Composed his face, though livid in its hue. 
Sternness with awe, in his undaunted eye ; 
Vainly the fiery tempest round him flew. 
He, like the herd, had not been taught to fly f 
Scathed, blasted at his post, the warrior stood to die," 

He stands now, just as he was found, in the Museum 
at Naples ; and I never passed that skeleton in armor,, 
but I felt the majesty of discipline, and a respect for the 
courage and integrity of the Roman soldier, who had thus 
nobly sacrificed himself to duty, sealing his devotion, by 
dying at his post,, with all his armor on. 

Several years ago, there trod the lonely streets of 
Pompeii, with feeble step and slow, a grey-haired man. 
Physical suffering, and mental toil, had passed their 
ploughshares over that noble brow, with a subsoil pressure. 
The mind within, which like a lamp in a vase of alabaster 
had once "illumed" that fine old face, was burning dimly 
now, or only flickered up with a sort of supernatural light, 
as dying lamps will, just before they are extinguished. 
The powers that had so long delighted the world, recalling 
past ages and manners with such vividness, that men 
believed he had found the enchanter's wand of the great 
wizard of his house, were now all gone. But as that old 
man paced mournfully through the deserted streets, and 



POMPEII. 235 

by the hearth-stones, cold and cheerless, of the exhumed 
city, his head drooped upon his noble chest, and he mur- 
mured, '' Take me away from this ; take me away from 
this; His the City of the Dead ; the City of the Dead" — 
then wept like a child. 

Volumes might be written on Pompeii, and yet they 
would only be to realize, and carry out this brief, but 
comprehensive summary, this profound impression which 
Pompeii left upon the mind of the great "Wizard of the 
North." 

But there is nothing dark or noisome in this City of 
the Dead. It is only sad^ because without inhabitant — 
and from the recollection of the terrible fate that so sud- 
denly overwhelmed it. It still all looks bright and fresh, 
and beautiful — the gay paintings on the walls — the 
marble fountains, which seem about to play, with their 
inlaid basins of the rich and varied sea shell — its atriums, 
with their beautiful mosaic pavements — its classic peri- 
styles, its cubiculas, or alcoves for sleeping, its vestibules 
with their hospitable welcomes^ inlaid in mosaic upon the 
threshold, inviting you to enter — and the deep blue sky 
of Italy smiling over all. There is so little of ruin or 
desolation, in the ordinary sense of the term. Even the 
very tombs, along the famous street that leads out of the 
Herculaneum gate, would hardly look mournful, did we 
not feel that the pious crowds, who once daily issued from 
that gate, would never more come, to scatter chaplets and 
flowers on the last resting place of those they loved on 
earth; and yet, in spite of all this, a deep feeling of 
melancholy will steal over you, and you can partially com- 
prehend the emotions of the great poet, and novelist, as 
you proceed through lonely and noiseless streets; and 



236 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

enter mansion after mansion alike tenantless and deserted. 
Where are the crowds that once thronged, or the owners 
that once possessed them? At first jou almost hesitate to 
enter uninvited — and every moment expect some member 
of the family to come forth, and rebuke the intrusion; 
but vain is the thought. You pass from house to house. 

" Vacant each chamber, 

Deserted each hall 

Quiet oblivion, reigns o'er all." 

You search the empty chambers, but no footfall is heard 
on the echoing pavement, but your own and companions; 
no voice responds to yours but that of those who have 
accompanied you. You pause and meditate, and Sir Walter 
Scott's commentary is upon your lips, "'tis tu.e City of 
the Dead — the City of the Dead." 

Immediately above the buildings that have been exca- 
vated^ tbe ground rises like a gentle swell, as if to shelter 
tbe bouses below; while vines in their more luxuriant 
graces, wave from tree to tree, springing from- the soil, 
that still covers the greater part of the city with vegetation, 
and forming with the dark brown masses below, a singular 
and most affecting contrast. 

Let us enter for a hasty stroll on the side facing the 
Mediterranean. It is the street of tbe silver-smiths; and 
those large irregular blocks of lava, in which the chariot 
wheels have worn ruts, still plainly discernible, look almost 
as fresh as the day they were fixed there by tbe Pompeian 
paviors. It is a narrow street, and you can cross it at a 
stride; but on each side is a well dressed curb bounding 
the edge of a pavement, that would do credit to any city 
of modern times. Mark how the footpath, between the 
curb and tbe line of houses is filled up with earth, upon 



POMPEII. 2S7 

which a hard casing of stucco is all unnoticed by the wear 
of feet and time, and looks as if it might still stand, the 
restless tread of countless generations. Where is the 
modern skill that can lay such a pavement as that ? 
Asphaltum has been tried, and in a few years it had more 
holes than wholeness. The deposit of stucco is by no 
means thick, and yet it bears no traces, of the wear of the 
thousand feet that must so oft have pressed it. 

A few steps from where we have entered, brings us to 
the southwest corner of the Pompeian Forum, where 
cluster as round a common centre, the relics of most of 
the public edifices of Pompeii. 

The remains of that building on our right, was once the 
Basilica of Pompeii, answering to our more modern Court 
House. You approach it through a vestibule, and from 
the vestibule, there is an ascent, by a broad flight of steps 
to the Hall of Justice itself. There appears to have been 
two rows of noble fluted columns at its sides, and one row 
on each end, supporting its vaulted roof. This Hall must 
have been quite grand in its proportions, being of a single 
story, with an arched ceiling. Along the upper space of 
the shafts of those side rows of fluted columns, is still dis- 
cernible, the traces cf a gallery, from which spectators 
could have a full view of the proceedings below. At the 
south end of this noble Hall, is still standing "the 
Tribune," elevated several feet from the floor, and once 
ascended by a flight of steps. This was the lofty position of 
the Judge or Praetor, from which he heard and decided 
causes. It must have been a court of criminal jurisdiction, 
as below the floor of this Tribune, which has evidently 
been of mosaic, are small dungeons, no doubt used for the 
temporary confinement of prisoners ; and the holes are still 



238 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

discernible, througli which orders were communicated by 
the Judge to the keeper below. Those side rooms, on 
the right and left of the Tribune, served, no doubt, as 
robing rooms for the the minister of justice and for the 
officers of the Court. The external walls of this edifice 
are quite plain ; but in the interior, courses of masonry 
are represented in stucco, painted with various colors, in 
imitation of marble. The large fluted sides and front . 
columns, which once supported the roof, and portico, are 
of singular construction; being formed of pieces of brick 
and tufa, radiating from a common centre. These, as well 
as the walls, are covered with a stucco, that has the ap- 
pearance of marble, with all its hardness, and certainly 
with more of its polish. The art of constructing so durable 
a cement, has certainly passed away from the world. This 
building, two hundred and twenty feet in length, and 
ninety in breadth, must have been a splendid edifice when 
perfect. Boast as we may of our wealth, enterprise and 
architectural skill — such a plan of a Court House in our 
day, laid before a Board of County Freeholders, would be 
received, with about as much ceremony, as a bombshell 
with a lighted fusee, should it fall in the centre of the 
table, round which the astute guardians of the county hold 
such profound deliberations. The solitary columns of this 
ancient temple of justice, still stand, mute witnesses of the 
architectural proportion and beauty of the perfect edifice. 
The marble slabs of the ancient pavement, worn by the 
hurrying feet of patron and client are still there. On the 
wails the loafing idlers about the court room, have scratched 
the initials of their names, and some rude caricatures, 
showing that this habit of defacing public places, is not 
original with us ; and was a Pompeian, as well as a Yankee 



POMPEII. 239 

weakness, and vice. The Tribune, from which so oft the 
stern decrees went forth, looks almost as it did, when the 
affrighted judge saw for the first time, the fiery shower 
hurled forth by the volcano, and gathering up his robes 
about him, fled from the judgment seat. In the dungeon 
beneath, a solitary skeleton was found — that of some poor 
prisoner awaiting in terror, perhaps, an earthly sentence j 
only to be still more astounded by finding himself before 
that dread tribunal, from whose decrees there is, and can 
be no appeal. 

Passing on north of this Basilica, and on the same side 

of the open space of the Forum, we come to what is known 

as the Temple of Venus. The remains of the Temple, are 

considerably elevated from the street, upon a huge base of 

masonry. The large altar still stands with a black stone 

upon it, containing three depressions for fire, in which 

were found the ashes of the victims, that had last smoked 

before the fane. There is an inscription, still very legible 

on the sides of this altar, recording that it was erected at 

the expense of M. Fortius, Lucius Sextelius and Caius and 

Augustus Cornelius ; within its penetralia, directly behind 

the altar, was found the beautiful and graceful statue of 

Venus, now adorning the Hall of the Museo Borbonico at 

Naples. On its walls, were fine frescoes painted in rich 

colors, on a dark ground — all of which have been removed 

to the Museum aforesaid. With one of these frescoes I 

was particularly struck on a visit to this grand receptacle 

of the wonders of art taken from the buried city. It 

pictured Bacchus, as a handsome youth, leaning on the 

shoulder of old Silenus, who is represented by a stout, 

dwarf-like figure, bald-headed and bearded ; the lower 

limbs draped, holding a lyre in his left hand, and having 

a basket of fruit at his feet. Bacchus has a fine juvenile 



240 FOREIGiN ETCHINGS. 

head covered with flowiDg curls, and a body and counte- 
nance, perfectly radiant with youthful beauty. He holds 
the emblematic thyrsus in his left hand, and in his right 
a double handled vase, out of which he is pouring a liba- 
tion. This picture was not only interesting to me from 
the wonderful power of its execution, but because I could 
discern a beautiful allegory shadowed forth in the design. 
Bacchus, as a child, was entrusted to the care of the aged 
Silenus. The advent of the young god was ushered in, as 
the bringer of healing, and the long expected founder of a 
better state of things. The ancients seemed to take great 
delight in bringing together the aged Silenus, and the 
youthful god, both in pictorial representations, and in 
statuary. And as we read that Moses was only permitted 
to gaze upon the promised land, from Pisgah's summit, 
where he was to die — so, in all these representations of 
the ancients, one sees the aged man under the character 
of Silenus, his face radiant with serene joy, absorbed in 
the better fate awaiting the coming generation. It is the 
serene joy observed in those alone, who amid the tumults 
of earth, have learned to purify all selfish feeling, and to 
find satisfaction in the contemplation of the coming welfare 
and happiness of the race. 

Directly opposite this Temple of Yenus, you enter 
through what was once an arched gateway of the colonnade 
surrounding the open area of the Pompeian Forum. How 
silent in its desolation is this space; once crowded by 
the busy groups, drawn hither by business, pleasure, or 
recreation. From that fragment of a rostrum the orator 
declaimed to the excited populace. Through that trium- 
phal arch, the stately procession has often swept, as it bore 
onward the laurelled conqueror to the Temple of Jove. 



POMPEII. 241 

Yonder is the spot, wtere Augustus Csesar stood, v^hen 
thousands bowed the knee and hailed him as a god, and 
consecrated that Temple whose fragments are around you, 
to his worship. 

At the head of the Forum, you notice the remains of 
the temple erected to Jove — the ascent to it has once been 
by a broad flight of marble steps, and the sides present a 
solid sur-basement, on which still stand the vacant pedes- 
tals, once ornamented with splendid statues. 

From the lofty steps of this temple, the view, before the 
fiery shower fell upon the devoted city, must have been 
superb. Along each side^ amongst the fragments of the 
pillared colonnades, may still be seen rows of pedestals, 
from which marble statues once looked down upon the 
hurrying crowd below. On the right hand, the spectator 
would have had the beautiful temple of Venus, with its 
brazen roof and elegant portico; and the grand Basilica, 
\vith an arched roof supported by its double rows of clus- 
tered columns. On the left the temple of Augustus, with 
the Pantheon of the great gods of Rome, each upon his 
magnificent pedestal, and all uniting in the guardianship 
of the city. There too, was the temple of Mercurj^, and 
the place of the Decurions — while equestrian statues crown- 
ed the summits of the sculptured gateways, that faced the 
temple. 

The temple of Augustus seems to have been built round 
an open square — in its centre, in majestic silence stood the 
twelve divinities of Rome. Those small chambers, looking 
like cloistered cells, were the residences of the numerous 
priests who ministered at the many altars. 

At one end you may notice three divisions, in which were 
found the statues of Nero and Messalina, now at the Museum 
V 



242 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

in Naples. In another, still stands the sacrificial altaf^ 
highly decorated with paintings ; one of which represents 
in an excellent state of preservation^ a female artist with 
pallet and brushes, such exactly as are used at the present 
day. Here we have a fresco, representing a Roman war- 
galley, filled with men, armed with long spears and shields 
and rowed by more than forty oars — and there a still 
more curious fresco attracts attention, representing a 
number of little cupids making breads with a mill for 
grinding flour standing by them ; and in that chamber, 
once used as a dining hall for the priests, you may notice 
various culinary utensils, and materials of a banquet, in- 
cluding fish, lobsters, birds, eggs, &c., painted on the walls, 
with great truthfulness to nature. 

Adjoining this temple to Augustus within an area, 
stand the remains of a small temple ; it was once a temple 
to Mercury — in front of it is an altar of white marble, 
bearing an unfinished bas-relief, supposed to be, in the 
principal figure, a representation of Cicero sacrificing, from 
the resemblance to that orator. The workmen, were 
engaged in repairing this temple, when they were com- 
pelled to desist, and fly for their lives; the rude dash of 
the mortar, and the traces where the trowel has left off to 
smooth, are still discernible on one of the columns. 

The Temple of Isis is magnified in description : and by 
no means remarkable. The staircase, passage, and the 
situation of the statue, are pointed out as very mysterious : 
and it is said that the priests ascended the secret stairs, 
and by means of the concealed passage were able to give 
out oracles to the people. The present priests of the 
country speak ill of their predecessors; but why should 
they speak ill of them ? the best part of their splendid 



POMPEII. 243 

ritual they liave borrowed from the "pagans. There is 
^^ only a slight distinction without a difference/^ between 
the idolatry of the Pompeian priesthood and that which still 
burns incense before the altar in the modern cathedral. 
At all events these poor priests of Isis were good disciples 
of Epicurus; they were at dinner in the refectory when the 
eruption came, and would not leave their meal : their 
skeletons were found amongst egg-shells, and the bones of 
chickens and fish. Our Italian guide opened his large 
eyes when he showed us the altars ; and said, " Here the 
priests burned the bones and eat the flesh, and deceived 
the people ; the poor world has always been deceived, and 
priests have always been the same.'' I thought if the 
liberal and sensible opinion of our poor guide could only 
become a little more general in Italy, the lazy priests and 
monks might be made useful, and in spite of themselves, 
respectable. Then they might be employed in scraping 
the roads and cracking stones, instead of scraping up the 
worldly substance of the people, and trampling under foot 
all liberal and enlightened sentiment. 

Passing through that Triumphal Arch, close on the 
right of the Temple of Jupiter, a few steps bring you to 
the remains of the principal group of Public Baths of the 
City. The ancients certainly seemed to understand the 
virtues of cleanliness. Much time was lavished in the 
frequenting of the public baths. No expense was spared 
to make them not only architecturally an ornament to the 
city; but every convenience that could be conceived of 
in connection with the object to which they were dedicated, 
might be found there. 

The private houses of the Pompeians were small. The 
house of Pansa perhaps was the largest in the city. They 



244 rOREiGN ETCHINGS. 

usually consist of but one story, and rarely contain more 
than three or four rooms. The houses in that division of 
the City which terminates at the Street of Tombs, are of a 
much more splendid description. The wealthiest of the 
citizens seem to have resided here. Eacb mansion 
encloses an open square court, with a marble bath or 
fountain in the centre : the pavement either marble or 
mosaic, surrounded by a colonnade, into which the doors 
open. The outer walls of the houses are generally painted 
red :■ but those of the interior are much more varied in 
their decoration. Small pictures representing all manner 
of subjects, ornament the centre of the apartments; sur- 
rounded by little borders, imitative sculpture, tiny columns, 
and other devices of the same description, all in fresco. 
In the immediate vicinity of the mansion of Sallust, the 
sbops and taverns are situated. They bear a striking 
resemblance to Italian shops of the present day, being 
entirely open in front, with the exception of a low wall 
which forms a window-sill. Upon the white marble of 
some of these shop-counters, circular stains may be dis- 
tinctly perceived, as if a cup or glass had here been care- 
lessly set down; and in others large broken jars of terra 
cotta were found, filled with oil in a jellied state. The 
serpents painted on the walls of many of these houses 
and shops, have been sometimes said to designate the 
medical profession of the occupiers ; but better authorities 
assure us they denote the protection these reptiles were 
superstitiously supposed to afford to their health. 

As you leave the excavations and stand upon the 
elevated soil, heaped above the buried part of the City of 
Pompeii, the view is perfectly enchanting. Before you in 
the distance sweeps th.e spacious Bay, rocking gently in 



POMPEII. 245 

the light of an Italian sky, as it were azure and gold, 
woven together and spread like a thin luminous gauze 
over the trembling waves, which bathe the green margin 
of the wooded hill. Yonder is the City of Naples, with 
its castles and palaces ; and far out, at the entrance of the 
Bay, "the lofty promontories Sorrento and Misenum — 
beyond which we can descry Ischia and Procida. There, 
for several miles runs the fine range of wooded heights, 
terminating in the rocky bluff of Pozzuoli, and the low 
winding shores of Baia, intermingled with green fields, 
olive groves and vineyards. Here and there on the flash- 
ing waters, white sails are glancing in the sunlight, or 
diminishing to specks in the hazy distance — forming 
altogether a scene of unrivalled interest and magnificence, 
justifying those lines of Byron : 

" Here Nature loved to trace 
As if for gods, a dwelling place." 



v2 



CHAPTEK II. 

EXCURSION TO POZZUOLI AND BAIA. 

The Grotto of Posilipo^ — Pozzuoli — The Temple of Serapis — The 
Amphitheatre — TheSoIfatara — Cicero's Villa — Lake Avernus — 
Misenum — The Tomb of Virgil. 

Naples had not fairly roused itself into its wonted 
restlessness and activity, when on a bright spring morning 
we started for an excursion to the classic shores of Baia. 
We rattled over the Chiaja, and by the Villa Eeale, until 
we came to where the mountain of Posilipo once shut 
up the way between Naples and Pozzuoli, but which the 
ancients with an engineering skill,, that makes the modern 
stare, have tunneled and bored through, forming the cele- 
brated G-rotto of Posilipo. Divers are the opinions of the 
learned, touching the time and beginning of this great 
work. It was attributed by the vulgar in ancient times, 
to magical arts, and the credit of the enterprise they be- 
stowed on no less a necromancer than Yirgil, whose bones 
are reported to rest on the hill above. But the enterprize 
and wealth of that ancient Sybarite, Lucullus, no doubt 
excavated Posilipo for the convenience of his villa. For 
that magnificent Roman, who carved statues out of moun- 
tains, opened gulfs of the sea to give water to his fish- 
ponds, and ransacked continents to supply a single dish 
for his table, would not have hesitated long about such a 
work as this. The singular and wonderful passage is cut 
through the mountain, a little over half a mile in length. 
It is ever J where broad enough to permit two carriages to 



POZzuoLi. 247 

pass. Tlic road through it is paved with flat flags of lava, 
and lies on a considerable ascent from east to west. A 
small apartment is cut into the rock about the centre of 
the passage ; and a little chapel, also hewn in the rock, 
stands near the entrance from Naples. Immediately over 
this is located the tomb of Virgil : and above the grotto 
is a vineyard. The height of this grotto is very unequal, 
being low in the centre, and lofty at the extremities. 
Daylight is always perceptible at each end, and two open- 
ings are pierced in a slanting direction towards the sides 
of the hill, and three lamps hang about the middle of the 
roof, to assist in clearing up the darkness and obscurity 
that even at mid-day envelop the grotto. But with all 
these contrivances it is still a gloomy and disagreeable, 
though extraordinary passage. On emerging from its 
gloomy shades, we gratefully acknowledged the exhilarat- 
ing influences of the sun, sky and air, and more ardently 
admired the rich green of the vineyards on the shore, 
and the sparkling waves of the Mediterranean flashing 
back the sunlight. After leaving the grotto, and passing 
through the groves which border it at this outlet, the road 
descends to the beach, and continues to traverse its wind- 
ings, until it reaches Pozzuoli, commanding a view of the 
distant Cape of Sorrento, and the craggy summit of Caprea 
to the left; with the bold promontory of Posilipo in the fore- 
ground. Within a short distance of the shore is to be seen 
the fortress of the Lazaretto, built on a small insulated 
rock : a little beyond is the small island of Nicida — the 
favorite retreat of Brutus, rising steep and verdant from 
the waves. And there stretching away to the right, is the 
irregular shore of the Bay skirted by its fertile headlands 
crowned with aloes and prickly pear, backed by the bright 



248 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

yellow and white hillocks that encompass the sulphurous 
Solfataraj while ravishing glimpses are now and then 
caught of the more distant romantic promontory of Baia, 
proudly elevating its castellated cliff; with the lofty rugged 
peak of Ischia rising behind : and the bright deep blue 
expanse of waters in front, sparkling in the sunshine. 

Pozzuoli, perched on a hill in the midst of the shore, is 
now a mean and contemptible village enough : but it once 
boasted of magnificence and splendor, which the sea, 
wars, and earthquakes have continued to mar, until it 
has become the miserable spot one now sees it. And there 
extending far into the sea, may yet be discerned the moles 
of the old Port — thirteen immense piles, which spring 
out of the water, like square towers.' When the ancient 
bridge existed here, it extended itself into the sea, until 
it reached the shore on the opposite side. Pozzuoli was 
an ancient Grecian Colony. It passed into the power of the 
Romans in the war with Hannibal; when its government 
and liberty were taken from it, and a Prefect annually 
sent from the Roman people to govern it. It then became 
a favorite summer resort of the more wealthy of the Ro- 
mans, who frequented it on account of its salubrity and 
location. Murray says, '^on entering Pozzuoli, the traveler 
will be beset with ciceroni, and by pretended dealers in 
antiquities'^ — and certainly on our entrance we were 
surrounded by a cloud of witnesses, in attestation of the 
truth of this remark. Ancient lamps from Cumae — coins 
with Caligula's image and superscription upon them — 
lachrymal vessels from some ancient tomb, and any quan- 
tity of smaller memorials of a race long since gone, were 
thrust at us with fierce gesticulations, and earnest com- 
mentaries upon their genuineness. Pozzuoli has become a 



PozzuoLi. 249 

great manufactory of antiquities, and every day, modern 
skill with a little damp earth, transforms the things of 
to-day into " veritahle antiq^ies." The streets of the 
modern town are now forlorn enough, being narrow and 
exceedingly filthy. What a difference it must have pre- 
sented, when the brave Apostle of the Gentiles guarded 
by the Centurian, stept forth upon that mole, whose ruins 
may still be seen just rising above the edge of the shore. 
Then Puteoli was a city of palaces, adorned with all the 
luxury and taste, which indicated its Grecian origin, and 
thronged with a most wealthy and polished population. 

It is at Pozzuoli one begins to find himself in what 
Strabo calls, ^'the Piazza, and shop of Vulcan, where the 
mountains seem continually to burn at the roots, so that 
on all sides they emit smoke by many mouths, and the smell 
of sulphur is blown all over the country/^ Here you find 
still the hot and the mineral springs, which made in 
ancient times, and still make this a favorite resort for 
invalids. These springs are in great repute for internal 
and external maladies, abounding in sulphur, magnesia, 
and soda. Virgil calls these spots '^the breathing places 
of Pluto," and Pliny designates then as ^^ vents of the 
infernal regions.'' 

Among the ruins of this ancient city none are more in- 
teresting and important than those of the Temple of Jupi- 
ter Serapis. These ruins illustrate in a remarkable degree 
the mysterious changes that are constantly going on in the 
shifting soil of this volcanic region. Indeed, I doubt 
whether any of it properly could be embraced within 
Blackstone's definition of real estate. This it must be 
remembered, is the region where mountains spring up in a 
single night like mushrooms — where the sea sometimes 
shrinks affrighted from the shore^ and sometimes fearing 



250 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

nothing, boldly encroaches upon it, sweeping whole cities 
to destruction. In the fourth century of our era, this 
old Temple, erected before the advent of our Saviour, 
was abandoned by its worshippers, and in some sudden 
convulsion of nature^ sank into the earth until the bases of 
its columns were all beneath the surface. Eruption after 
eruption poured down layer after layer of scoria, which 
enveloped the sunken columns still more, until at last only 
a small portion of the summits were above ground. 
In process of time, even this part became covered 
with trees and brush-wood. About the middle of the last 
century, a portion of one of the columns was observed 
peering above the brush-wood, and the reigning Sovereign 
gave orders to have them disinterred, which revealed to 
the astonished gaze, the magnificent ruins that now 
excite the wonder of the traveler, and stimulate the curi- 
osity of the naturalist. The columns are of Cipolino mar- 
ble, of the Corinthian order, each formed of one solid 
block for the shaft. The pavement of the Temple and its 
surrounding Court is almost entire, though now nearly 
covered with the waters of the sea, that reach up here 
over its level platform. Around lie scattered blocks of 
the purest and whitest marble, and fragments of sculp- 
ture, all of great elegance, which once adorned this 
magnificent Temple. On the bases of these columns 
may be observed myriads of perforations, that make them 
look like a honey comb. These are holes eaten in the 
solid marble by the teeth of sea-worms — and showing 
that at one period in their history, they must have been 
submerged beneath the wave. But another convulsion 
sent them to the surface, for the bases of the pillars thus 
eaten, are now above the soil. 

The amphitheatre which rises behind and above the 



SOLFATARA. 251 

town, is a vast enclosed oval area very similar to the Co- 
losseum at Rome, and remarkable, as having been the 
favorite spot where Nero exhibited his prowess as a com- 
batant of wild beasts, not half as cruel as himself. 
Within this grass-grown circle, he turned buffoon and 
appeared both as singer and actor. 

"The hired actor's fame alone he prized; 

For this he bow'd a slave, by slaves themselves despised." 

Here too it is said, that worthy saint, St. Januarius, whose 
blood annually liquifies at Naples, suffered martyrdom. 
This amphitheatre, like that of Rome, has the floor of its 
arena, filled with subterranean chambers, doubtless the 
cells where the wild beasts were kept, and from which 
they sprang into the arena. It presents some very fine 
specimens of the Roman arch, and is in a most admirable 
state of preservation — the masonry being as firm at this 
day, as when first constructed. 

From Pozzuoli, we proceeded to Solfatara, which lies 
about a mile northeast of the town. We reached it after 
a somewhat tedious ascent, and found it a vast oval plain, 
extending on an eminence, but surrounded on all sides by 
an elevated border, resembling a rampart. Nothing can 
exceed the sterile desolation of this spot. It is the flooring 
that now covers the crater of a volcano, which once poured 
out its desolating stream of fire upon all the plain beneath. 
Its surface is covered with the pale yellow sulphur, and 
the noise of your footsteps sounds hollow and dismal 
from beneath. 

"No herbage decks the soil; nor in the spring 
Do the soft shrubs, with discord musical, 
Hold murmuring converse with the gentle breeze, 
But chaos there, and hopeless barrenness, 



252 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

Dark rocks, and funeral cypresses are found, 
In this drear spot; grim Pluto from the ground, 
Rear'd his dire form, while played around his head 
With smouldering ashes strew'd, sepulchral fires." 

Standing upon the sulphurous floor of Solfatara, and look- 
ing round upon the desolation that encircles you, and 
forward to where an open chasm still roars with internal 
fires that send forth alternately flames and smoke, you 
may well realize the features of Milton's infernal regions. 
^' The dreary plaiuy tlie land that hurfied fiercely as the 
LaJce with liquid Jire — the fiery deluge fed loith ever 
hurning sul^phur,' are all here. Solfatara^ is the place which 
of old, was celebrated in those inventions of the ancient 
poets, that in my school-boy days, I had read with such 
wonder and delight. It was under this mountain the 
Giants were buried, who from Hell, cast forth out of their 
throats flames, when earthquake's shook the soil, 

"Et montes, scopulos terrasque invertere dorso." 

When we visited this spot, the small opening of the vol- 
cano was in active operation^ and while this continues, 
Yesuvius remains quiet. But when the volcanic action 
ceases here, then Yesuvius bursts forth. Hence it is called 
the pulse of Yesuvius, and through its fierce beatings many 
miles away, they learn when the fever heat begins to course 
through the veins of the giant mountain, indicating that 
soon the melting lava will overflow its crater, to carry 
devastation and terror along its scorching pathway. The 
ancient poets very naturally seized upon this wonderful 
region as the appropriate scene for their lofty imaginations 
and fancies; and it is not surprising that near here they 
should have placed their entrance to the infernal realms. 
We drove down from those desolate regions and conti- 



BAIA. 253 

nued our journey towards Baia, passing the ruins of Cicero's 
villa, perched high upon a rock. This is the Puteolian 
villa, of which the orator speaks so rapturously in some of 
his letters ; and from its location must have commanded 
the most magnificent views of sea and shore. Hither 
Cicero retired in the calamitous times of the republic, to 
pass the time away and forget his misfortunes in his favo- 
rite studies. And here the principal Romans repaired to 
visit him and take counsel. Here he had those halls and 
groves, which induced him to call his villa an Academy, 
in imitation of that of Athens, wherein they ordinarily 
disputed walking. He gave his " Questiones Academicae" 
their name from this villa. It is to this place he alludes, 
when writing to Atticus at Athens, he recommends his 
Academy, and begs him " to send to him from Greece what- 
ever could be had for ennobling it with fair ornaments." 

About three miles distant from Pozzuoli, you reach 
Baia, with the remains of villas, temples and palaces lining 
the shores, and in some places with ruins visible far down 
in the clear waters that lave them. The bay of Baia is 
a semicircular recess just opposite the harbor of Pozzuoli. 
The taste for building in the waters and encroaching on 
the sea, to which Horace alludes, is exemplified in a very 
striking manner all along this coast. Here might be 
traced the remains of the villa of Hortensius, where 
that luxurious Eoman had his fair fish-pools, for which 
Cicero taunting him, calls him ^'Neptune, god of the sea." 
It was in this villa the monster Nero put to death his own 
mother, Agrippina. Within the space hemmed in by these 
shores, C. Marius, Pompey and Caesar had their houses of 
pleasure; and near the Temple of Ycnus, we traced the vast 
foundations of the last named Roman's retreat. In the sea 
w 



254 . FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

may be clearly seen the great old piles of the port of Baia, 
like those of Pozzuoli; built of brick at enormous expense. 
They were constructed by Julius Csesar during his first 
consulship, by commission of the Senate. Here in this 
neighborhood, is the Lake Avernus, consecrated to Pluto, 
god of hell. This was the scene of Virgil's famous en- 
trance into hell; and here was the gate through which the 
infernal spirits rose when a human creature was sacrificed to 
them. On the opposite side of the Lake are the ruins of 
the Temple of Apollo. But one would not certainly have 
suspected that either Apollo or his priestess, would have 
frequented this region surrounded by overshadowing hills. 
The waters of the Lake look dark and stagnant, and at this 
point, the scene is far more like the dismal dominions of 
Pluto, than of the fabled deity of light and harmony. The 
Lucrine Lake so celebrated in classic history, may still be 
seen, though somewhat shorn of its proportions. Agrippa 
when he formed a harbor of the Lucrine Lake, opened a 
communication between it and the fabled Acheron. It 
was in the year 1538, that near to the former Lake, much 
to the astonishment of the inhabitants, in a single night, 
rose that conical looking mountain, called Monte Nuovo, 
over a mile in elevation. At the sudden birth of this 
mountain, the shore and the waters of the sea retired many 
hundred feet — overwhelming an entire town, and filling 
these old classic lakes with stones, earth and ashes. By 
some of the ancient chroniclers the small mountain near it 
was called Monte di Christo, they asserting that Christ, re- 
turning from Hell with the souls of the Holy Fathers, arose 
out of the earth, near this mountain; thus reviving the 
old classic tradition of the entrance to Hell, being in 
the vicinity of Lake Avernus. The Grotto of the Sybil 



ELYSIAN FIELDS. 255 

is in close vicinity, but this we had no time to visit. 
It was the residence of that famous Cumaen Sybil, that 
gave Eneas the free passage into Hell : and she was one of 
the twelve who uttered the prophecy concerning the 
the Saviour, all of which no doubt was an after invention 
of the Fathers. The prophecy is said to have been as 
follows : — 

*' Great Rome shall then look high. 

Whose proud towers from seven hills shall brave the sky, 
And overlook the world. In those blest days 
Shall come a King of Kings, and he shall raise 
^ A new Plantation: and though greater far 
Than all the monarchs that before him are 
In majesty and power; yet in that day 
So meek and humble, he shall deign to pay 
Tribute to Csesar ; yet thrice happy he 
That shall his subject or his servant be." 

From Baia to Misenum, the entire curve of the beau- 
tiful shore is covered with the ruins of edifices, private and 
public, temples, theatres, and villas — while the ground 
you tread has been celebrated by poets, the chosen resi- 
dence of patriots and tyrants, and the scene of the most 
atrocious crimes. 

But let no one who does not desire to have all his clas- 
sical ideas subverted, visit the site of the Elysian fields. 
It is a forlorn looking spot, affording no trace of the 
reason of the ancients in locating those blessed fields in 
this vicinity. Well does a classical writer remark in re- 
ference to these grounds : " In the splendor of a Neapo- 
litan firmament, the tourist will seek in vain for that purple 
light so delightful to his boyish fancy — he will look to no 
purpose for meadows ever green, rills always full, and 
banks and hillocks of downy moss.'' The morning we 



256 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

were there had no resemblance to some of the days of our 
uncongenial spring : the sun shone brightly in the heavens, 
the waters of the bay sparkled under its beams, and the air 
was soft, though towards mid-day somewhat warm. And 
near this, is the Promontory of Misenum, so celebrated in 
Roman naval history. It was here Eneas gave sepulture 
to his dead trumpeter Misenus, and called the place after 
Lis name. The Piscina Mirabilis, still enclosed by walls, 
is some five hundred feet long, and two hundred broad. 
The arched ceiling was once supported upon forty-eight 
columns, many of which remain. The whole fabric is 
composed of brick, and the walls being of great thickness 
render it very durable. It is covered on the inside with 
cement to make it water tight : and this huge structure, 
the magnificent Augustus built to hold fresh water for the 
use of his fleet. It was at Misenum the elder Pliny was 
stationed in command of the fleet, and from it he started in 
his ship, to aiford assistance to the Pompeians, at the time 
of the eruption that laid their city under ashes, when he 
perished himself by suffocation, as his nephew relates in 
his interesting letter to Tacitus the historian. Many of 
the sepulchral stones about Misenum bear the names of 
the officers and soldiers that once belonged to the Eoman 
fleets that so often rode at anchor here, together with the 
names of the ships to which they were attached. 

It was late in the afternoon, when retracing our steps 
by the curved shore, washed by the serenely beautiful 
waters of the Mediterranean, we passed once more through 
the far-famed grotto of Posilipo, and prepared to perform 
the pious duty of visiting the Tomb of Yirgil. The Hill 
was almost as hard to climb, as the Poet thought the ascent 
from Avernus. After the fatiguing part of the ascent was 



Virgil's tomb. 257 

passed, we wound through vineyards until we reached in a 
wild and romantic spot, the place where the tomb is located. 
Outside, the structure is circular; inside, it is a square 
empty chamber, with a vaulted top, and numerous small 
receptacles on the sides for cinerary urns. Its centre is 
said to have contained nine marble pillars, supporting an 
urn with the following inscription, 

"Mantua me genuit, Calabri rapuere, tenet nunc 
Parthenope ; cecini pascua, rura, duces." 

The urn is gone, not a name appears : but from the 
hand of ever bounteous nature, an evergreen stretches 
its verdant arms above it, and a profusion of vegetation, 
gives somewhat of the freshness of spring, to this symbol 
of decay. 

We are told that Yirgil traveling in Greece, met Augus- 
tus at Athens, who proposed his journeying with him. 
But at Megara, the poet was seized with a complaint 
which forced him to return to Brundusium, where he died. 
His remains were at his own request brought to Naples, 
and buried on this hill. It is certainly a spot, which a 
poet would have chosen — and perhaps the richness of the 
clustering grapes and the carols of the vintage, conjoined 
to the enrapturing prospect that everywhere bursts upon 
the eye, may have often led his living footsteps to this 
magnificent hill. The spot where the tomb stands is soli- 
tary : but surrounded by all that poets love — the wild 
roar of the ocean, or its magic murmur — the lofty Appe- 
nines in the distance — Vesuvius, towering in lonely 
majesty, its black and burning summit, contrasting with 
the vineyards, palaces and villages, that crowd around its 
foot. In the same vineyard, and not far from this monu- 
w2 



y 

258 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

inent, are two or three simple tomb stones, the last homes 
of the English and German Protestants who have died 
at Naples. 

As we returned to Naples, the broad way that passed 
the Yilla Reale, and the shady walks of this pleasant gar- 
den by the sea, were alive with all the fashion and gaiety 
of the city. Dashing equipages with rich liveries whirled 
by us, mingled here and there with the more humble 
calessi, — the drivers standing behind, and urging their 
lean and panting horses at a breakneck pace. There too 
were the temporary stages on which the wit of that illus- 
trious native of Naples, Punch, is displayed^ surrounded 
with characteristic groups. In many respects Neapolitan 
life, both out doors and in, resembles Parisian. The Nea- 
politans have the same thoughtless vivacity, the same 
jocund disposition. Fond to excess of trifling amusements, 
the gay creatures pass through life, with the hilarity and 
carelessness of children. They flourish in youth and 
wither in age, without a thought beyond the hour. 



CHAPTER III. 

Approach to Rome — View from the Capitol — The Seven Hills — 
The Roman Forum, and its Ruins. 

From the first moment of entering Italy, our thoughts, 

our wishes, and our hopes all centered in Eome. There 

is something indescribably solemn in the wildness and 

neglected condition of the approach towards that city 

at any point ; something which strikes the traveler with 

double awe as he comes near this oasis of the desert. 

Enter it on the road from Naples, and the desolation 

is still more profound. Then, the fragments of the 

costly tombs of the once rulers of the world, fling their 

shadows across your pathway, and you pass in to the 

Eternal City with the ruined fragments of the palace of 

the Caesars around you — the stern and kingly m.ass of the 

Colosseum, rising like a spectre of the past before you: 

and close to it, the Forum, strewed with the memorials of 

architectural grandeur; 

" Those shattered fenes 
Still matchless monuments of other years." 

Our first approach to the city was by the Civita Yecchia 
road, and we entered it near the grand Basilica of St. Peters. 
Its huge dome had been visible for the last twelve miles, 
towering up in solitary grandeur : and as we drove by the 
semicircular colonnade, enclosing its oval piazza, the first 
view of the entire structure was by no means commensurate 
with our preconceived ideas of its extent. Nor was our first 



260 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

impression of the Eternal City very favorable^ as our dili- 
gence dashed along through narrow and filthy streets, af" 
fording us glimpses every now and then of bridges, orna- 
mented with statues, sombre looking cupolas, or strange 
barrack-like buildings. I had not made a pilgrimage to the 
Eternal City, to view the churches with their resplendent 
altars_, their gorgeous ceremonies and magnificent rituals ; 
to witness how far the present generation with all the 
light of Christianily_, has deviated from the greatness and 
glory of the olden time : but I went there to gratify the 
cravings of a more laudable curiosity, to see the memo- 
rials of the world's masters : to stand in the midst, and 
trace out the ruins of ancient Rome, 

" The land of heroes, and the nurse of arms." 

Modern Eome does not occupy either the extent or the 
site of the ancient city. The Campus Marti us, which, in 
the days of the greatness of ancient Rome, was an open 
field for military exercises and games^ is now the only part 
within the walls that can be called populous. Of the 
Seven Hills, the Capitoline and Quirinal only are covered 
with habitations. Deserted villas, olive grounds, vineyards, 
cottages of the peasantry, and above all, convents, occupy 
the wide extent of the Palatine, Aventine, Celian, Esqui- 
line and Yiminal hills. 

Standing upon the Tower of the modern Capitol, which 
now occupies the site of the Tabularium, or Record office 
of ancient Rome, and stands like "a. Pharos," between 
two ages of the world ; a most interesting view spreads 
out before you. From this point you can readily discover 
the ancient grandeur of Rome, and its modern strength. 
In the view is united in a remarkable degree the charm 



VIEW FROM THE CAPITOL. 261 

of a magnijBcent landscape with that which springs from 
historic association. Through the cloudless and transpa- 
rent atmosphere, a large part of the Latian plain is visible. 
Its luxuriant pasturages and thickets fade away on one 
side into the faint line of the distant sea, and rise on the 
other into the stately amphitheatre of the mountains, steep 
and lofty — studded on their verdant slopes with towns and 
villages; and towards their more southern extremity clothed 
with beautiful woods. The Tiber, stained to a deep yellow 
by the fertilizing soil, which it has washed away from its 
banks, after entering the Umbrian and Etruscan vales, 
glitters like a belt of gold along the plain, in the sunshine 
which irradiates with Italian clearness, the sward, the 
scattered trees, and the shadowy hills. In the distance 
are spots hallowed hj their classic memories. There may 
be seen Tivoli, the favorite haunt of the poet Horace — 
there, too, is the Alban Mount, bearing upon one of its 
ridges, the ruins of ancient Tusculum, consecrated in the 
thoughts of the classic scholar, as having been the favorite 
retreat of Rome's greatest orator, and the scene of his 
Tusculan disputations. Towards the south-east stretches 
the long line of the Appian way, and its ruined tombs, — 
that highway, whose worn stones are the same as those 
pressed by the great Apostle, when he approached the city, 
where he was to die, accompanied by the brethren '^'who 
had gone out to meet him as far as the Apii Forum, and 
the Three Taverns.'^ To the south-west stretches in elo- 
quent desolation the Campagna, as far as Ostia and the sea. 
History has consecrated this mighty waste by the memory 
of noble deeds — Imagination has hallowed it by the spell 
of poetry, and Superstition with her most graceful fanta- 
sies. Rome, in her infant greatness, filled that vast plain 



262 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

with lier stadow; making it tlie bloody stage on whicli 
to practice for the subjugation of a world. 

Bringing from our position, the eye back again to range 
within the walls, we can easily trace out the seyen hills on 
which the Imperial City once stood, when it gave laws to 
a subject world. On the north and west of our position, 
immediately beyond the Tiber, the view within the city is 
bounded by the Janiculum Mount, and Monte Mario, 
crested with villas, and embosomed amongst pines and 
other evergreens. The former of these elevations on the 
opposite side of the river, and the Pincian Mount on the 
nearer bank, form a semicircle, of which our position on 
the Capitoline Tower is the centre : and this area includes 
almost the whole of the modern city, the greater part of 
which lies between us and the water's edge, covering the 
flat surface of what in the days of ancient Kome was the • 
Campus Martius, 

The ancient city of the seven hills, beginning with the 
Capitoline Mount, in the midst of whose modern buildings 
we are standing, is nearly all contained in the remaining 
semicircle enclosed by the city walls. Now, every spot 
once covered by the ancient city is a waste, almost without 
inhabitant. Piles of shattered architecture rise amidst 
vineyards and rural lanes, exhibiting no tokens of habita- 
tion, except some decayed and decaying villas and a convent. 
Facing the Campagna, on our right is the Palatine Mount. 
It is the spot connected with every period of Koman story. 
It was the birth-place of the infant republic of Komulus; 
and at last became too small to hold the palace of a single 
emperor. Still farther to the right, and almost behind 
you is the rocky Aventine,, rising from the Tiber, bare 
and almost solitary, and displaying the shattered fragments 



THE SEVEN HILLS. 263 

of the stupendous baths of Caracalla. A little beyond the 
Palatine is the Celian, with the remains of Roman aque- 
ducts, crossing in broken masses from the Porta Maggiore, 
towards the site of the ancient city. Directly before us, 
in the distance, is the Esquiline, commencing at the point 
where the Celian ends, near the gate of St. John Lateran, 
and running down with it to the Colisseum ; and there a 
little to the left of the Esquiline, are the Quirinal and 
Pincian hills — the immense palace and gardens of the 
Pontiff crowning the one, and the modern gardens of Eome 
the other. 

Descending from our position on the Tower of the Capitol, 
let us visit the open space below, where fragments of co- 
lumns, triumphal arches, and broken pavements, tell that 
here once stood the pride of Eome, the Eoman Forum. 
This space, so celebrated in the world's history, in its 
palmiest days appears to have been an oblong area, consi- 
derably wider at the end nearest th.e Capitol, than at the 
other, narrowing from one hundred and eighty to one hun- 
dred and ten feet. The Capitoline Hill is at its head, the 
Palatine hemming it in on one side, the extremities of the 
Quirinal and Viminal on the other; while the Esquiline, 
rears itself directly opposite to the Capitoline — so that, 
in reality, the Forum was hemmed in by five of the seven 
hills on which Eome stood. If we look now to the boun- 
daries of this celebrated space, the prospect is mournful 
enough. At one end we have the Capitoline Hill, on the 
summit of which, instead of the Temple of Jupiter, the 
wonder of the world, is the gloomy looking palace of the 
modern Capitol, erected in the heavy style of Michael 
Angelo. Turning to the right is the Palatine Hill, once 
glittering with the brazen tiles and gilded pinnacles of 
Nero's Golden House: now covered with the vast ruins of 



264 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

of this immense structure, together with the ungainly 
buildings of a convent, and the weeds of its neglected 
garden. On your left is a range of churches, formed out 
of ancient temples ) while in front you discern the pictur- 
esque Arch of Titus, still spanning ^^the Sacred Way,^* 
while the kingly mass of the Colisseum lifts itself in air 
with its broken summit, in the distance beyond. 

The high ground on the Capitoline Hill, at the head of 
the Forum, is now almost encased on the side next the 
Forum, with, ancient and massive masonry, that once 
formed part of the Tabularium or Eecord office during the 
time of the Roman republic, and is the strong founda- 
tion upon wliich the modern Capitol now rests. A few 
feet from these ancient foundations, reared in part by Etrus- 
can skill, and within the enclosure at the foot of the mo- 
dern Capitol — a mound of earth, strewn with fragments of 
parti-colored marbles, with a few foot-worn steps clinging 
to its side, marks the site of the Temple of Concord. 
This terraced substruction is now all that remains of that 
temple erected by Camillus, on the spot where the Eomans 
and Quirites were wont to assemble in fulfilment of a vow 
made wten the victorious Dictator had succeeded in restor- 
ing unanimity between the patricians and plebeians. But 
what renders this ruin of such deep interest, is, that it 
it has recently been ascertained through the researches of 
Canina, that directly behind it, was the great Senate Hall, 
where ^Uhe Conscript Fathers'' held their sittings, and took 
counsel for the good of the State. And that pavement of 
parti-colored marbles once formed the mosaic floor of 
Rome's great Senate Hall. It was in this Hall, Cicero 
opened his first great oration against Cataline with that 
stirring, heart-searching exordium, " How far wilt thou, 
Cataline, abuse our patience ! How long shalt thy madness 



THE FORUM. 265 

out-brave our justice! To what extremities art thou 
resolved to push thy unbridled insolence of guilt V And 
it was to where the cburch of Ara Cseli now stands upon 
the hill abovO; that he turned his hands and eyes, when 
lie closed with that sublime peroration : " Then, thou, 
Jove, whose name Romulus consecrated by the same 
rites, with which he founded this city ! Thou, whom 
we rightly call the stay of the Empire ! Thou shalt 
repel Cataline and his accomplices from thy altars ; from 
the temples of the other gods; from the walls of Rome; 
from the lives and properties of our citizens. Then shall 
thy eternal vengeance, in life, as in death, overtake all the 
foes of the virtuous; all the enemies of the country; all 
the robbers of Italy; and all who are linked in the mutual 
bands of treason, and execrable conspiracy. '^ In close 
proximity to this terraced substruction, which is all that 
remains of the Temple of Concord, and Rome's famed 
Senate Hall ; stand three time-worn pillars, beautiful in 
their decay, supporting the fragment of an entablature. 
It is the graceful ruin of the Portico, that once belonged 
to the small but beautiful Temple erected by a grateful 
Senate, to the deified Emperor Vespasian. This for a long 
time passed as the Temple of Jupiter Tonans, but the 
researches of Canina and other antiquarians have proved 
them beyond a doubt to belong to the temple erected to 
Vespasian. This temple was restored by S. Severus, and 
Caracalla ; and you may still read upon the frieze, the letters 
Estitver. The lateral frieze of the portico, bears sculp- 
tured emblematical figures, most of them representations 
of ornaments connected with pagan sacrifices, such as the 
cap which the Flamen Dialis wore; the secespita or iron 
knife with the ivory handle used by the same priest; the 

X 



266 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

capedunculuSf or dish for catcting tlie blood of tlie sacri^ 
fice; and the aspersoriumj or instrument for sprinkling 
the lustral water. Each column consists of one block of 
Grreek marble, fluted, with capitals richly ornamented in 
the most beautiful style of the Corinthian order. 

Those eight columns of oriental granite, a little to the 
right of the fragment of the portico of Vespasian's temple, 
supporting an entablature of rare architectural beauty, and 
on which parts of a Roman inscription may still be read, 
are the columns that once supported the brazen roof of 
the Ionic portico of the Temple of Saturn. When Publi- 
cola, the colleague of Brutus, doubted where he should 
deposite the treasures of the state, he at last selected for 
the purpose this very temple. It was upon its marble steps, 
the victorious generals on a return from a campaign, were 
obliged to take a solemn oath that they had given a true 
account of their captives, and the value of their spoils. 
It was past these very columns, that the far-famed " Sacra 
Via'' led up to the Capitol — and they have witnessed many 
a triumphal procession, bearing amid^the plaudits of throng- 
ing crowds, the laureled conqueror to the temple of Jupiter, 
on one of the eminences of the Capitoline Hill above. On 
the architrave may be distinctly read, 

"Senatvs Populusque Romanvs. 
Incendio comsumptum. Restivit." 

Scarcely anything remains above the architrave. All that 
exists is of the Roman flat brick : and there are arches 
over the intercolumniations. When this temple was res- 
tored, after its damage by fire, it was evidently done in 
great haste, and with the materials of other structures. 
The columns themselves bear plain marks of it. One of 
them has evidently been made up of the fragments of two 



THE FORUM. 267 

different pillars, so that the diameter is greater near the sum- 
mit than it is in the middle^ and the bases of the two co- 
lumns are composed of Doric and Ionic mixed. Between 
these eight columns of the Temple of Saturn, and the Etrus- 
can foundations, on which the modern Capitol now rests, 
may be noticed a platform elaborately built of the wide 
and flat Eoman brick, and resting on a series of small 
chambers. Around are scattered fragments of carved capi- 
tals, broken friezes, and mutilated entablatures. That 
platform was once pressed by the busy feet of the mer- 
chants of Rome, and here in front of the great Kecord 
office or Tabularium of the Republic, was the Roman ex- 
change, the Schola Xantha. Here was that famous brazen 
statue of Victory; here the brazen seats, and the seven 
silver statues of the gods. Those small cell-like chambers 
were the offices of the notaries. 

Passing down from the Schola Xantha, by the remains of 
the Temple of Saturn, then, turning to the left and pursuing 
your way until you are in a direct line with the remains of 
the Temple of Concord, the Arch of Septimius Severus is 
seen spanning the way. It looks as if it had been thrust 
in where it stands, because no other place for it could be 
found; and no doubt this is so. It certainly at one time 
stood spanning the way in some other part of the Forum. 
The sculptures decorating it, are rude and tasteless. They 
are intended to show forth the victories of the valiant 
Emperor, whose name the arch bears, over the Parthians, 
Arabians, and Adiabenes. On its level summit, now wav- 
ing with grass and weeds originally stood a group in bronze, 
representing Severus with his sons Caracalla and Geta, in 
a triumphal chariot drawn by six horses. This massive 
structure, at the commencement of the century was choked 



268 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

up to tbe top of the middle arch. A potter had established 
his workshop in it, and that accounts for the smoke-stains 
to be seen covering the summit. 

Near to this arch, is to be seen a sort of semi-circular 
substruction ; this once belonged to the celebrated plat- 
forms called from their being adorned with the beaks of 
captured ships, Rostra, a name afterwards applied to all 
platforms from which public addresses were made. The 
outer walls of these platforms may still be traced, and 
those blocks of white marble crowned by elaborate cor- 
nices, once no donbt supported the splendid bronze balus- 
trade, mentioned by Cicero, which with the pillars and 
statues placed round, must have given a brilliant finish 
to the whole. Standing upon this ruin, and looking 
up to the elevation just above^ where rest the frag- 
ments of the Temple of Concord — the old pavement with 
its broad stones is still plainly visible descending to 
the E-ostrum, along which Cicero, rushing from the 
Senate House, to this very platform where we are now 
standing, made his eloquent appeal to the people in the 
Eorum, against Cataline. At each extremity of this 
terraced substruction a close examination, reveals the base- 
ment of a column faced still with portions of white marble; 
it is the remains of the Umbilicus Romge, which at this 
point marked the centre of the city, and of that portion 
of the world over which she ruled. 

These are all the relics of ancient Kome that remain in 
the space walled in, at the foot of the modern Capitol. 
But passing out of this enclosed space, descending across 
the Bridge that spans the hollow near the Arch of 
Severus, and facing where the Arch of Titus spans the 
way in the distance^ we have before us the remaining por- 



THE FORUM. 269 

tion of the now desolate district, where once was the 
celebrated Roman Forum. Drawing a line in this direc- 
tion, from the point where we are standing, the Arch of 
of Severus, to the Church della Consolazione, and from the 
same Arch to the Temple of Antoninus and Faustina; we 
shall have some notion of the length and breadth of the 
Roman Forum. The Greek Forums were squares — but 
the Roman were all oblong, the breadth being about 
two-thirds of the entire length. Taking the boundaries 
given above, and it makes the length of the Roman Forum 
seven hundred and five feet, and its breadth about four 
hundred and seventy. This being the space occupied by the 
Forum, it never could possibly have held at any one time 
half the structures that antiquarians have assigned to it. 
But still it must once have presented a most magnificent 
spectacle with Curiae, Rostra, and magnificent Basilicse. 
The Via Sacra, entered the Forum near the Temple of 
Antoninus and Faustina, passing as it is supposed under 
the old Arch of Fabius, of which Cicero makes mention, 
and that must have spanned the way on a line with 
the north eastern angle of this temple. It is melan- 
choly to reflect, how few fragments now remain of all the 
magnificence that must have been embraced within the 
limits of this the chief of the Forums in Rome, and of 
which the statues, portions of entablatures, and richly 
ornamented friezes, now stored in the Capitoline and 
Vatican Museums, give ample evidence. 

Standing by the Arch of Severus, before you a little 
to the right, you see the isolated Corinthian Pillar de- 
scribed by Byron, as 

"The nameless column with the buried base," 

x2 



270 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

but now the base is all exposed. The Duchess of Devon- 
shire has the merit of having had an excavation made 
round it^ some forty years ago, at which time an inscrip- 
tion was discovered on it, setting forth that it was erected 
in 608 to the Emperor Phocas, by Smaragdus, Ex-arch of 
Italy, and that a gilt statue of Phocas once ornamented 
the summit. This Pillar is Corinthian of Greek marble, 
and fluted. It stands upon a pyramid of eleven steps, 
and is clearly much older than the time of Phocas, having 
been taken from some ancient temple which it once 
adorned. A little beyond this column, towards the Pala- 
tine Hill, a deep excavation reveals the scattered fragments 
of a marble pavement, while mutilated capitals, and crum- 
bling architraves disclose an architectural splendor, long 
since passed away. Here once stood the celebrated Basilica 
erected by Julius Csesar, enlarged and completed by Augus- 
tus. This was once and long, the far-famed seat of the Cen- 
tumviral Courts, that from four different tribunals dispensed 
justice at one and the same time to the thronging suitors. 
Cicero delivered here that eloquent appeal in behalf of 
Sextius Koscius, accused of the murder of his father. 
But the locality possesses a greater interest from the fact, 
that it has lately been ascertained, it covers the very 
spot once occupied as the Comitium, the place for the 
public assembly of the Patricians. It was here that 
the old Senators who had been Consuls and Censors, had 
won triumphs, and grown grey in the country's service, 
when the Gauls approached, devoted themselves to destruc- 
tion. It was here they ordered their ivory curule chairs 
t© be set — and here when the invading barbarians reached 
the Forum, they turned and beheld these venerable men, 
sitting like so many gods descended from heaven to protect 



THE FORUM. 271 

and defend the city. Upon this venerable array they 
gazed with silent awe, until a barbarian more daring than 
the rest;, ventured to stroke the long silvery beard of M. 
Papirius, and received a blow from the ivory staff of 
the old hero; whereupon the barbarian in wrath slew him, 
and this first sword stroke, gave the signal for a general 
slaughter. 

A little beyond the site of the Basilica Julia, are three 
solitary columns, close to the Palatine^ and marking the 
limit of the south-east boundary of the Forum. These 
pillars, as well as the fragment of the architrave and 
cornice supported by them, are among the most beautiful 
architectural remains of ancient Rome. These pillars 
have in truth been a perfect stumbling block to anti- 
quaries, no less than twenty names having already been 
bestowed on them. It is now established beyond a 
question, that they belong to the portico of the Temple of 
Castor and Pollux, erected by Tiberius. Among all, 
Time has spared of Imperial Rome, nothing gives one so 
exalted an idea of the perfection and beauty of ancient 
architecture as these three pillars. The ornaments of 
the capitals and entablature are as rich and elegant, as 
they are pure and graceful. They are of white marble, 
of the purest Corinthian, and the largest fluted columns 
in Rome. Considerable force appears to have been used 
in order to destroy this temple, as it is clear to be seen^ 
that some of the blocks composing the shafts, have re- 
ceived a violent wrench, so as to force them out of their 
places, and thus destroy the continuity of their fluting. It 
must have been somewhere near the spot where this temple 
stood, were collected the waters of Lake Juturna in whose 
depths the twin brethren disappeared after bringing the 



272 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

news of the defeat of the Latins, with such supernatural 
speed. Not far from it, must have been the Velabrian 
Marsh, into which Quintius Curtius leaped, devoting him- 
self a sacrifice to his country. Of the Lake and the 
Marsh there are now no traces in the Forum ; but a spring 
bursts forth near the Cloaca Maxima, considerably beyond 
the Roman and even of the Boarian Forum, which still 
goes by the classic name of Juturna. 

On the opposite side of the Forum, almost in a direct 
line, are the fragments of the Portico, belonging to the 
Temple of Antoninus and Faustina his wife. The line 
thus drawn, forms the extreme southern limit of the 
Forum, extending from the base of the Capitoline Hill. 
This temple was converted into the Church of S. Lorenzo 
in Miranda. The inscription upon the frieze still remains : 

" Divo Antonino. Et. 
Divae Faustinaae. Ex. S. C." 

A considerable portion of the ancient building is preserved ; 
but the principal part is the Portico of ten columns, six 
in front and two on each side. They are Corinthian, and 
of the marble which is called Cippolino by the Italians, 
from its laminar composition resembling onions. All the 
cornice of the front has disappeared, as have the shafts of 
the pilasters at the sides; but some ornaments in the 
frieze, consisting of griffins and candelabra are still tole- 
rably perfect. 

A little removed from the central line of the Forum, 
and directly under the Palatine Hill, stands the little 
Church of Saint Theodore. It occupies the substructions 
of the Temple of Romulus, which stood nearly at the end 
of the Forum, on the very spot where the twin brothers 
were nursed by the wolf. When paganism threw open 
the brazen doors of this temple, the weak and sickly 



THE FORUM. 273 

children of the Romans were brought here to he cured — 
and the same practice still prevails in the Christian Church 
of Saint Theodore. It was pobably along the middle of 
this Forum, the shops of artizans and merchants were 
erected in the days of its glory — or perhaps might have 
been constructed along the sides, after the manner of 
of the Palais Royal, or St. Mark's Place at Venice. It 
was somewhere near the centre of the open space of the 
Forum, that tradition assigns as the spot, where Yirginius 
saved his daughter from 'Hhe nameless evil that passeth 
taunt and blow/' when 

" Lifting high the steel, he smote her in the side. 

And in her blood, she sank to earth and with one sob she died. 

TT -Jt" ^ ^ ^ ^ "Sv 

Then, for a h'ttle moment, all people held their breath, 

And through the crowded Forum was stillness as of death ; 

And in another moment brake forth from one and all 

A cry, as if the Volscians were coming o'er the wall. 

Some with averted /aces shrieking fled home amain, 

Some ran to call a leech; and some to lift the slain; 

Some felt her lips and little wrist : if life might there be found ; 

And some tore up their garments fast and strove to staunch the 

wound. 
In vain they ran, and felt and staunched : for never truer blow 
That good right arm had dealt in light against the Volscian foe." 

We have now examined all the ruins that remain to 
tell of the magnificence of this once celebrated spot. These 
are all the relics of a past age now to be seen in the space 
once occupied as the Roman Forum. And when one 
gazes on its circumscribed limits, and remembers what in 
the long course of ages has passed within its confines, he 
feels that he stands upon one of the most interesting spots 
in the world. If one could wish to meditate and moralize 
upon the vicissitudes of human greatness, it certainly 
would be here. 



CHAPTEK IV. 

WANDERINGS AMONG ROMAN RUINS. 

The Arch of Titus — The Colosseum — The Meta Sudans — Arch of 

Constantine — Ruins of Nero's Golden House — Baths of Cara. 

calla — Baths of Titus — Temple of Minerva Medica — Baths of 

Diocletian — Forum Boarium — Arch of Janus — Forum of Nerva 

' — Trajan's Forum — Column of Trajan — Temple of Vesta. 

Passing beyond the limits of the Roman Porum, a few 
steps from its southern line, and on your left as you ap- 
proach the Arch of Titus — massive fragments of walls — 
broken columns, and sculptured cornices, lie scattered about 
in all directions. Above these shattered relics, three 
huge arches seventy -five feet in the span each, darken the 
earth with their shadow. These colossal arches have long 
served as a model to architects for all the larger Churches 
in Rome. They passed for a long period, and by some 
are still called the Ruins of the Temple of Peace ; but 
they are the last remains of the Basilica erected by Max- 
entius, completed and partially rebuilt by Constaniine, 
and now called the Basilica of Constantine. A small por- 
tion of the original building only remains; but these 
parts of it are on a prodigious scale. If one would form 
a perfect conception of the original splendor of this struc- 
ture, let him go and view the vast and elegant proportions of 
the column that stands in front of the Church of St. Maria 
Maggiore. It once formed one of the eight pillars which 
supported the central arches of this ancient Basilica. 
Canina calculates the entire length of this Temple or Ba- 
silica, to have been over three hundred feet, while its 
width exceeded two hundred. It once no doubt was the 



THE ARCH OF TITUS. 275 

most magnificent structure of the age in which it was 
reared. But now, with its bosom thrown open to the 
winds, it gathers in its deep coffers the driving dust and 
chaff — while the sparrow and the linnet nestle in the 
spring of its tremendous arches. 

Continuing on, along the Sacra Via, that passes by 
this Basilica, in a few moments you find yourself be- 
neath the Arch of Titus. It stands at the foot of thre 
Palatine Hill, on the road leading from the Forum to the 
Colosseum. It was just falling to ruin, when in the 
beginning of this century an outside casing of white mar- 
ble restored it to its original proportions, and has been the 
means of preserving the interior of the Arch, and the in- 
teresting sculptures that adorn it. This Arch was erected 
by the Senate and People of Home, to commemorate the 
triumph which followed the taking of Jerusalem by Titus. 
You read the old Boman inscription, 

•'Senatus Popvlusqve Romanvs 
Divo Tito. Divi Vespasiani F. 
Vespasiano Augusto." 

as distinctly as if it had been only carved yesterday. 
From the expression Divo Tito, it appears that it was not 
erected until after his death, which the apotheosis of the 
Emperor, still represented on the roof of the arch would 
also seem to indicate. The inside of the arch is elabo- 
rately decorated with sunk square pannelings. On one of 
the interior walls is a bas-relief, representing this Emperor 
celebrating his triumph over the Jews. He is in a chariot 
drawn by four horses abreast, attended by a group of Se- 
nators, and accompanied by a figure of Victory, who holds 
a wreath over his head. On the opposite side of the Arch, 
are the famous reliefs^ representing the sacred vessels 



276 " FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

taken from the Temple of Jerusalem, and carried in the 
triumphal procession by the victorious Romans. First is 
a standard bearer leading the way under a triumphal arch. 
Eight Romans follow, with wreaths around their brows, 
bearing the table of the shew bread — the golden candle- 
stick, the vessel of incense, and the two trumpets, used to 
proclaim the year of jubilee. The seven -branched candle- 
stick, is represented as very richly embossed. Judging 
from the size of the men, this candlestick must have been 
some six feet in height. The lower parts of the human 
figures are very much mutilated and defaced, but the 
upper parts are in a wonderful state of preservation. The 
sacred vessels themselves, from which the ancient artist 
copied these interesting reliefs, have long since disappeared. 
Their history can be traced down to a late period ; but 
what finally became of them, perhaps can never be satis- 
factorily ascertained. Josephus says, that the Books of 
the Law, were placed in the Palace at Rome, and the can- 
dlestick and other spoils were kept in the Temple of 
Peace, which stood originally very near, and almost in a 
line with the present Arch. When the Temple of Peace 
was burnt in the reign of Commodus, these treasures it is 
said, were not destroyed, but carried off by Genseric the 
Goth, into Africa, after which no traces of them can be 
had. It is true that the Romish Church professes to pre- 
serve the Ark of the Covenant in the Charch of St. John 
Lateran; but as Josephus says it was never brought to 
Rome, it may be that they sent a special messenger after 
it in the time of Constantino, when the Scala Santa, the 
portions of the true Cross, and other equally veritable 
relics found their way, through the zeal of Helena, to the 
Eternal City. 



THE COLOSSEUM. 277 

The Sacred Temple of the Jews, from which these 
vessels were torn, and of which the bas-reliefs are no doubt 
accurate representations, has been overthrown and is trod- 
den under foot of the Gentiles. Looking at that repre- 
sentation of the triumphal procession, bearing along in sad 
array God's chosen people, the mind instinctively recalls 
the sound and utterance of that dread voice from Mount 
Necho : '^ when ye do evil in the sight of the Lord^ he shall 
scatter you among the nations, and ye shall be left few in 
number among the heathen, whither the Lord shall send 
you." The Roman general was blind to the great results he 
was accomplishing, when he left not one stone upon another 
of the magnificent Jewish Temple. Nor did he discern 
the hand leading his captives, as the triumphal procession 
swept up the very path, now spanned by the graceful Arch. 
The descendants of these very captive Jews may still be 
seen in Rome, a despised, and a degraded race. But who 
doubts, that the promise is still theirs, and their habita- 
tion an appointed one. 

Having emerged from the &hade of the Arch of Titus, 
and passing down the pathway leading along the base of 
the Palatine Mount, through which, above the earth, like 
the bones of an emaciated figure peeping through the flesh, 
are to be seen the fragments of the Palace of the Csesars ; 
the immense mass of the Colosseum startles you by its 
magnitude. It was first bathed with the tears of captive 
Jews, who assisted in laying its massive foundations, while 
its arena has been stained with the blood of martyrs, gladi- 
ators, and wild beasts. It covers an area whose circum- 
ference is nearly two thousand feet. The wall encom- 
passing its ellipse towers to the astonishing elevation of 
one hundred and sixty-five feet. It is constructed of 

Y 



278 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

huge blocks of travertine, some of which are fully six 
feet long, five and a half broad, and nearly three feet thick. 
Upon the marble seats that once adorned its sides, eighty- 
seven thousand people could be comfortably seated, while 
twenty thousand more could find room above. Comparing 
the present appearance of this structure with what it must 
have been formerly, it will be found, that immense as it is, 
two -thirds of the stone that composed it, is actually gone. 
It is said to have suffered by earthquakes, and for a long 
while was a vast stone quarry for some of the builders of 
modern Rome. The Palazzo FarHese, that of Venice, and 
the Cancellaria, as well as the Porto di Ripetta, and the 
Churches of S. Lorenzo, and S. Agostino, are known to 
have been built from it. In the fury of the civil conten- 
tions that , deluged Rome with blood during the middle 
ages^ the leaders of the different factions, found in this 
colossal structure a number of strong fortresses. Soon 
after the civil wars its materials were used to make lime, 
and so in one way or the other, the Vandals of modern 
times have endeavored by pillage, by leaguer and storm 
to mutilate and destroy; and earthquakes too have spent 
their fruitless rage upon it — and yet it stands, and seems 
likely to confer upon the famous saying of the venerable 
Bede, the dignity of a prophecy. The pillage is now at 
an end, and the whole consecrated by the ungainly looking 
cross, which erected in the centre of the arena, holds 
out for every kiss, an indulgence of two hundred days. 
The innermost circle of the arena, is very much marred 
by the sacred stations, in which the different events in the 
passion of our Saviour, are painted most vilely. 

Never did human art present to the eye a fabric so well 
calculated by its form and size, to surprise and delight. 
Viewed as an abstract mass, it tells of the masters of the 



ARCH OP CONSTANTINE. 



279 



world, and lowers the present generation of architects to 
the grade of pigmies. The vast loftiness of its perpen- 
dicular — the tremendous sweep of the curve of its arches, 
rising tier after tier, one hundred and sixty feet in the air 

— the bold ring lines of the ellipse, which clip the arena 
within, all are perfectly wonderful. What a tale this old 
pile could tell, if those moss-covered stones could "cry out 
of the wall" — stories of the desperate struggles of the 
Gaulish captive — the supplicating look — the agonizing 
cry of the gladiator as he fell upon the bloody sand to die 

— the last faint moan of the good old Christian Bishop 
Ignatius, as the teeth and claws of the starved lions, were 
fleshed in his aged side. 

Northwest of the Colosseum, may be noticed the remains 
of a brick pillar commonly called the Meta Sudans, and 
supposed to be the fountain built by Titus, between the 
Colosseum and the Palatine Hill. It was within its spa- 
cious basin, the outline of which is plainly visible, that 
the gladiators are supposed to have refreshed themselves, 
and washed away the bloody stains of the struggle in the 
arena. 

At the southeast corner of the Palatine Hill, and very 
near the Colosseum, spanning the old Triumphal Way, is 
the celebrated Arch of Constantino. This structure is 
formed upon the purest models. It consists of three 
arches, of which the centre is the largest ; and has two 
fronts, each adorned with four columns of giallo antico, 
mai*ble of the Corinthian order, and fluted, supporting a 
cornice, on which stand four Dacian captive Kings, sculp- 
tured in violet colored marble, and surmounted by a cor- 
responding entablature. The inscriptions, excepting the 
spaces above the principal arch, and the side divisions, are 



280 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

ornamented with the admirable relievo medallions brought 
hither from the Arch of Trajan, which once stood in the 
Forum, where now is to be seen the column erected to that 
Emperor. This arch is interesting aside from its beauty 
of proportion, as having been the la&t monument of the 
Roman Senate and people. It is the last memento of the 
conquering race of Cassars. As a concluding scene of 
Roman triumph, it is not unworthy the brightest days of 
the Empire ; — but, like the fadiag glories it commemo- 
rates, it is only the reflected splendor of the sun, which 
continues ta gild the horizon after the blazing orb itself 
has disappeared. . 

As you pass under this Arch and along the old Trium- 
phal Way, the rather steep hill on your right is the Pala- 
tine, connected most intimately with every period of Ro- 
man story. It was the birth-place of the infant republic 
of Romulus, and upon it, he laid the foundations of the 
mighty nation, which afterwards gave laws to a subject 
world. That hill once contained the whole of Rome itself: 
but when she had extended her conquests, and the world's 
tribute was poured into her lap — it was too small to hold 
the palace of o-ne Emperor. Those huge and shapeless 
masses of brick work, that may be seen rising on the 
western side, are but a mere fragment of the double ar- 
cades, that supported a part of the Golden House of Nero, 
which once shone resplendent upon this Hill. The floor- 
ing of the vanished apartments, covered with stucco, now 
serves to form a noble terrace, surrounded by a profusion 
of shrubs, which have been long suffered to run into wild 
luxuriance, and clamber over every loose stone, and broken 
arch. At one end of this terrace may be noticed a small 
circular apartment, and a narrow deep cavity almost 



BATHS OP CARACALLA. 281 

filled up with the spreading branclies of trees, that flourish 
with peculiar luxuriance round this part of the ruins. 
This apartment is known as the Cabinet of Nero. The 
celebrated Circus Maximus, was located directly in the 
valley below, lying between the Palatine and Aventino. 
And it is supposed that it was. from this Cabinet, the 
Emperor overlooked the games in the arena below, and 
gave the signal for their commencement. The adjoining 
cavity is also circular, but much smaller. It is popularly 
termed the Bath of Seneca, on the supposition of that 
philosopher having been put to death there, by order 
of the tyrant : but it most probably enclosed a private 
staircase, by which the suspicious Emperor might ascend 
to his favorite retreat. 

Next to the Colosseum, I know of no memorials of the 
past in Kome, which astonish you more than the ruins of 
the Baths of Caracalla. They occupy part of the declivity 
of the Aventine, and a considerable portion of the plain 
between it and Mons Celius. The length of these baths, 
was nearly two thousand feet, while their breadth was 
nearly five hundred. The outward wall may be traced in 
almost its whole circuit, though it has lost something of 
its height. The number of rooms in the interior, and the 
dimensions of somo of them, startle us at the present day. 
One chamber in particular, supposed to be the Cella Sole- 
aris, is over two hundred feet long, and nearly one hundred 
and fifty in width. This hall received its name from the 
roof, which was formed by Egyptian artists of bars of gilt 
metal, crossed in the manner of the fastenings used in the 
sandals worn in those days. At the end of the structure 
were two temples, one to Apollo, and one to Esculapiu-s. 
In the principal building was in the first place, a grand 
y2 



282 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

circular vestibule, with four halls on each side, for cold, 
tepid^ warm and steam baths. In the centre, was an im- 
mense square for exercise, when the weather was unfavor- 
able; beyond it a great hall, T^here sixteen hundred marble 
seats were placed for the convenience of bathers. At each 
end of the hall were libraries. The building terminated 
on both sides in a court surrounded with porticoes. Eound 
the edifice were walks shaded by trees, and in its front 
extended a gymnasium, for running, wrestling, and other 
athletic sports in fine weather. The whole was bounded 
by a magnificent portico, opening into spacious halls, where 
poets declaimed and philosophers lectured. Now all this 
magnificence is shadowed forth in immense vaulted halls, 
with half the roof fallen in; massive heaps of masonry, 
lying in every direction; mosaic flooring still preserving 
its form and color; blocks of marble and enormous arches, 
exhibiting the rich warm tints that distinguish theEoman 
ruins, variegated by every variety of beautiful verdure. 
As we entered the mighty precincts, the warm sun of an 
Italian spring was lighting up the varied masses of this 
architectural Anak. The ruins of these baths enchant you 
by their simple, absolute magnitude. You can easily com- 
prehend, as you study their vast proportions, how those 
monster creations of the ancient chisel — the Farnese Bull, 
the Hercules and Flora should have been found within 
their magnificent penetralia. Extensive as these ruins are, 
still the Baths of Caracalla were not the largest Thermae 
in Home; which fact gives one an exalted idea of the 
architectural genius and grandeur of this wonderful people. 
On the Esquiline Hill, over against the Colosseum, may 
be seen the remains of what are known as the Baths of Titus. 
When Titus rested from his labors after the completion of 



BATHS OF CARACALLA. 283 

the Coiosseumj he conceived the idea of erecting:; mag- 
nificent Baths upon the adjoining heights of the Esquiline, 
and he carried his plan into speedy execution, by convert- 
ing the buildings at the foot of the hill, which belonged 
to the Golden Palace of Nero, into sub-structions, whereon 
he could rest his immense edifice. The house of Mae- 
cenas, alluded to by Horace, stood here, and this also 
the Emperor brought into use in the construction of the 
Baths that bear his name. There is nothing very interest- 
ing about the huge and shapeless mass of these ruins; 
much soil has accumulated on their top, and now serves 
for gardens, In the vaults beneath, which one is only 
able to explore by torch-light^ may be seen portions of 
painted ceilings; and the arabesques, now fast fading away 
in the dampness, from which Raffael is said to have taken 
some of his hints in his ornaments of the Vatican. It was 
in one of these vaulted chambei^ that the group of the 
Laocoon was found. And here this magnificent work could 
only have been seen by torch-light, which I was afterwards 
satisfied, is the true light, to bring out and develop all its 
beauties. On visiting the Vatican by torch-light during 
my stay in Rome, there was a general expression of admi- 
ration when the blaze fell upon this wonderful creation. 
The rising of the muscles, and all those delicate touches of 
the chisel, which are scarcely observed by day on the smooth 
surface of the white marble, were thrown into a much 
stronger light and shade, and stood powerfully forth on 
that occasion, giving us a stronger conception of the excel- 
lencies of the work, than we had before entertained. The 
original entrance to these Baths, has not yet been disco- 
vered, and the present mode of getting to them is by a 
temporary wooden staircase penetrating the roof. In a 



284 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

vineyard higlier up the Esqiiiline,aiid sloping towards the 
Colosseum,, may be seen the Sette Sale, a row of chambers 
believed to have been reservoirs of water, for the use of 
the baths. They are low, long, dark, narrow, vaulted 
apartments, covered with a very hard, white stucco, each 
one exactly like its neighbor. Their broken walls and 
roof are now luxuriantly covered with ivy and other creep- 
ing plants. It was in the vaults of the Baths of Titus 
was found that celebrated painting, called the Nozze Aldo- 
brandi ; which though seventeen hundred years old, still re- 
tains all the freshness and spirit of a painting of yesterday. 
The Esquiline is the most extensive of the seven hills, 
and the desolate district now forming its greatest portion, 
is occupied only by vineyards, neglected villas, and desert- 
ed churches. There is another ruin upon it, near the 
Porta Maggiore, in the midst of an extensive vineyard, 
which in some respects, is by far the most picturesque of 
any in Rome. I allude to the lonely ruin of the Temple 
of Minerva Medica. Though the brick walls only of this 
building are standing, its ruins are particularly beautiful. 
The vaulted roof, broken into long narrow strips, appears 
to hang in air, admitting partial rays of sunshine, which 
streaming over the tall reeds that spring up in wild luxu- 
riance, and on the masses of ruin that have fallen in 
above, and now partly fill up the interior, produce a strik- 
ingly picturesque effect. Its singular form and lonely 
situation render it one of the most remarkable ruins of 
Rome, and the melancholy air it assumes is assisted by 
the gigantic fragments of the neighboring aqueducts, 
which stretching across hill and dale in majestic desolation ; 
present an image of yet more total destruction. This tem- 
ple was decagonal^ with a spacious dome. It was in one 



BATHS OF DIOCLETIAN. 285 

of its recesses^ the beautiful statue of the Minerva Mediea 
was found, which now adorns the Chiaramonte Gallery, 
in the A^atican. 

On the Quirinal Hill, separated from the Esquiline, by 
the narrow and flattish surface of the Yiminal, are to be 
seen the stupendous remains of the Baths of Diocletian. 
These baths were the largest in Rome. About the latter 
part of the second century, the Emperor Diocletian return- 
ed from Africa, breathing fierce threatenings against the 
Christians who were in Eome. All those who could 
be found, daring to avow themselves of the new religion, 
were immediately condemned to work in the buikling of 
these baths. The numbers thus employed are variously 
estimated at from fifty to one hundred thousand, and these 
were murdered in cold blood, immediately after the work 
was finished. Part of the stupendous brick ruins which 
remain of this structure, 

" Defaced by time, and tottering in decay," 

has been used as a corn-granary by the government. The 
Church of Santa Maria d'Angeli, belonging to a convent, 
the convent itself, the neighboring Church of San Ber- 
nardo, the walls of its gardens, and those of several villas, 
are all now formed out of the ruins of the upper story of 
this structure, the lower one being buried under the super- 
incumbent buildings. The Church of Santa Maria d'An- 
geli is a circular structure, which was once one of the prin- 
cipal halls of these baths. Here still are to bo seen the eight 
immense columns of oriental granite, that formerly stood 
in this apartment, now forming the chief beauty of the 
modern church. Here, too may be noticed the ancient 
cornice and the knobs of brass on the vaulted ceiling. 



286 



FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 



from which were suspended the twenty-eight lamps, that 
in the days of Diocletian lit up this spacious hall. The 
short space that intervenes between these ruins and the 
walls of the city claims considerable notice from the fact, 
that it was there the Pretorian Bands, the support, but the 
terror also, of the later Emperors used to encamp ; and 
there in earlier periods the city was defended by the ram- 
parts of Servius Tullius. It is in vain now that you search 
for any remains of this ancient defence of the city from 
the incursions of the neighboring Sabines and warlike na- 
tions, who at that period swarmed around the walls. "SYe 
have thus endeavored to comprehend in our ramble over 
the seven hills, all the principal ruins that are scattered 
upon them; but this by no means comprehends all the 
remains that tell of the majesty and greatness of Imperial 
Rome.^ 

Between four of the seven hills, the Capitoline, Palatine, 
Cffilian and Esquiline, is an open space of considerable 
extent. It is west of the Roman Forum, and nearest to the 
Tiber. This is the space once occupied as the cattle market 
of old Rome, the Forum Boarium. It occupied part of the 
Velabrian Marsh, after it was filled up. The Church of 
San Greorgio in Yelabro, whose portico is decorated with 
several ancient pillars, is supposed to stand on the founda- 
tion of the Basilica, or place of Judgment, for the causes 
of this Forum, built in the reign of Septimius Severn^. 
Adjoining this Church may be noticed the fragment of a 
structure, known as the Arch of the goldsmiths and cattle 
dealers, which is said to have been erected by these trades- 
men of the Forum in honor of the Emperor Severus. The 
sculptures that once adorned this arch, are very much de- 
faced. Those in the interior represent sacrifices offered 



THE FORUM BOARIUM. 287 

by the Emperor and his sons. On the last the figure of 
Geta has been destroyed, and his name effaced from the 
inscription after his murder, by the orders of his brother 
Caracalla. Its square form, more resembles a gateway 
than an arch. But the ruin by far the most imposing in 
its appearance in this Forum, is that of the Arch of Janus, 
called Quadrifrons. It has a somewhat quaint appearance, 
and was no doubt, originally used as a market place. 
Being erected over the spot, where two roads intersecting 
the cattle market met, its seems to have marked the cen« 
tral point of the traffic carried on in this space. It may 
have been used by the bankers and money changers, and 
Horace perhaps alludes to this very spot, or a similar 
building when he says, 

"Postquam omnis res mea Janum 
Ad medium fracta est. Sat. ii. 3, IS." 
and 

" Virtus post nummos. Haec Janus suramus ab imo 
Perdocet. Epist. i. 1, 54." 

It is built of Greek marble, which brings the date down to 
the end of the Republic, as this material was not used 
until that time. The spot on which the arch stands, is 
surrounded by desolation and decay. The irregularity of 
the ground, shows that underneath it, are scattered ruins, 
of buildings that once adorned the surface. The Cloaca 
Maxima may be seen close by, passing under the stupen- 
dous arch that covers it. During the residence of the 
Popes at Avignon in the fourteenth century, the principal 
patrician families intrenched themselves within this arch 
of Janus as a fortress. Thus were the monuments of Ro- 
man splendor which even Goths and Vandals revered, 
sacrificed by the remorseless fury of civic discord. The 
greater part of the ruin is now covered with ivy, v,hose 



288 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

deep verdure and heavy luxuriance, harmonize well with 
the darkness and gloom of its low situation, and contribute 
to shed over its venerable remains, that air of desolation 
with which the imagination loves to clothe the scenes con- 
secrated by the remembrances of long past ages. 

A little removed from the eastern end of the Forum 
Romanum, is the space once occupied by the Forum of 
Nerva. The Forum of Domitian which was never, I believe, 
finished, was afterwards included in that of Nerva, that 
extended from thence to the north. The only trace 
of the architectural grandeur of this Forum is to be seen 
in the small portion of the Temple of Tallas that now re- 
mains, with its pillars sunk, nearly half their depth in the 
heaped up soil of modern Eome. It is sufficient, however, 
to give one an idea of the splendor of the design. The 
two pillars which remain support an architrave adorned 
with a frieze. On the attic is the colossal figure of Mi- 
nerva, represented in relief, as the patroness of labor : on 
the architrave the goddess appears, engaged in instructing 
young girls in various female occupations, and punish- 
ing the insolence of Arachne, who had ventured to com- 
pete with her in the labors of the loom. Here too you 
may notice, beautifully symbolized, the aqueducts which 
supplied Rome with such copious streams of water. This 
Forum was sometimes called the Forum Transitorium, 
from the fact that the main thoroughfares to the city 
passed through it. It is now one of the filthiest parts of 
modern Rome, and it is very difficult to realize, amid the 
piles of dirt, and forlorn looking buildings which cover it, 
that it ever was magnificently adorned. Even the space 
between the pillars of the Temple of Pallas is built up, 
and forms the front walls of a miserable structure, where 
a cobbler plies his trade. This temple is clearly alluded 



THE BASILICA. 289 

to by Pliny, wlien he says — ^'Then the Forum was dedi- 
cated, which is called Pervium, in which a loftier and 
more magnificent Temple is erected to Minerva." 

Originally there is said to have been a ridge between the 
Capitoline and Quirinal Hills. In the time of the Emperor 
Trajan this ridge was all cleared away, to the depth of 
many feet, and the valley widened on both sides. And 
here this magnificent Emperor, under the direction of his 
architect Apollodorus, laid out the Basilica, which was to 
form the central point of the Forum, to be called after his 
name. Those fragments of granite pillars that the modern 
traveler sees in that walled in space called the Forum of 
Trajan, is but the middle portion of this Grand Basilica. 
These fragments are all that remain of the double row of 
massive columns that once supported the bronze roof of 
the magnificent edifice. That stump of a pillar of yellow 
marble ornamented its side front — those yellow marble 
steps, to be seen in a niche in the enclosure, cnce led 
up to its Portico. And just in the rear of the space 
occupied by this splendid Basilica Ulpia, so called from 
the family name of Trajan, rises the magnificent marble 
pillar which bears the name of the column of Trajan. This 
pillar was erected about the year 115, in commemoration 
of Trajan's two Dacian campaigns, and from the inscrip- 
tion, was the work of the People and Senate of Rome. 
The shaft itself is covered with bas-reliefs, which go round 
the whole from the bottom to the top in twenty-three 
spirals, representing the exploits of the Emperor in both 
his Dacian expeditions. There are said to be about two 
thousand five hundred figures in all, and the figure of Tra- 
jan is repeated more than fifty times. These figures are 
about two feet high in the lower part of the column, but 
z 



I 



290 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

towards the top they increase in size, that they may appear 
the same from below. Thirty-three separate pieces of 
marble are used in the work. There is a spiral staircase 
within, which winds twelve times round, and contains, 
one hundred and eighty-four steps: and it is a most 
remarkable circumstance that this staircase is not a 
separate work, but is cut out of the same stones of 
which the shaft itself is composed. A statue of the Empe- 
ror formerly surmounted the whole, twenty-one feet high. 
A Pope of the sixteenth century, finding the Emperor's 
place vacant, elevated there a statue of St. Peter in gilt 
bronze, who seems out. of place, surmounting a column 
erected to commemorate the warlike exploits of a Pagan 
Emperor. The space which passes as the Forum Tra- 
janum, is nothing more than a portion of that once occu- 
pied by the magnificent circuit, now covered by the build- 
ings of modern Rome; and where palaces, gymnasiums and 
libraries, of old attested the stupendous designs of its 
architect. 

It is not my intention to introduce the reader to all the 
ruins that remain of ancient Kome, the mere catalogue of 
which^ would almost of itself, make a volume; but I can- 
not conclude this chapter without a brief allusion to the 
little Temple of Vesta, which stands by the banks of the 
Tiber, in the Piazza di Bocca della Verita. I hardly 
think that it is older than the age of Augustus. It is cir- 
cular, with a portico all round it, and had originally twenty 
Corinthian columns, fluted; one of which is now wanting. 
The cornice also, and the ancient roof, have disappeared. 
In Ovid's time it was covered with a dome of brass. In other 
respects it is tolerably perfect, and forms a very interest- 
ing and elegant object. The walls within the portico, are 



TEMPLE OF VESTA. 291 

all of white marble, much of which still remains. Is it 
not this Temple to which Horace alludes, in the following 
verse of one of his finest odes ? 

" Vidimus flavum Tiberim, retortis 
Liltore Etrusco violenter undis, 
Ire dejectum monumenta Regis, 
Tem plaque Vesta," 

Near this elegant little fane rolls the Tiber — the muddy 
and still the " Yellow Tiber" of classic days. It passes 
on with the same solemn and majestic flow, silently bath- 
ing the ruins of those edifices which were the scenes of so 
many great actions. 

In these wanderings through Roman ruins, we are fully 
aware that many have been necessarily passed by without 
notice. To describe fully and accurately all the memorials 
that are left in Home, of these ancient rulers of the world, 
would alone fill volumes. Nor are those that have been 
disinterred, which one stumbles upon in every direction in 
the streets of modern Rome, and upon the elevations, 
where the proud city once reared herself, all that remain 
to tell of former greatness. In many places 

" Pregnant with form, the turf unheeded lies." 

And beneath the soil are architectural and artistic trea- 
sures that will yet challenge the admiration of future 
generations. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE MARBLE TREASURES OF THE VATICAN. 

St. Peter's and the Vatican — Dimensions of the Vatican — Chris- 
tian Epitaphs — Museo Chiariraonte — II Braccio Nuovo — Museo 
Pio Ciementino — Ancient Sarcophagus — The Apollo — The 
Laocoon — Hall of Animals — Hall of Busts — Hall of the Muses 
— Hall of the Greek Cross — Collection of Antiquities in Rome. 

No tourist can visit St. Peter's or the Yatican, and be 
surprised at the revelations made by history of that ^^ vault- 
ing ambition/' that aspiring desire for empire; which 
nothing but universal power could satisfy, and which more 
or less forms the principal characteristic of the Roman 
Pontiffs. Walk along; that vast aisle of St. Peter's— 
stand within the shadow of its heaven-scaling dome — tra- 
verse the vast corridors of the Vatican, and look out upon 
the living and dead majesty of Rome, from the lofty win- 
dows : and then wonder if you can, that its possessors 
within sight of the locality of the palace of the Cassars, 
should suppose they might also wield their power. But 
now even the pontifical glory hath de]3arted. 

" 'Tis Some, but living Rome no more." 

How fallen is that ecclesiastical sovereignty, which 
in the days of Hildebrand kept shivering royalty for four 
days a suppliant at its gate, and placed its proud foot, glit- 
tering with the jewelled cross, upon the necks of prostrate 
Emperors and Kings. That throne once so powerful, is 
now upheld by foreign bayonets, and trembles at the nod 
of the descendant of an obscure Corsican advocate, who 
has usurped the throne of Clovis and Charlemagne. But 
fallen as is the Papal power, it still has its strong-holds, 



THE VATICAN. 293 

in St. Peter's and the Vatican : and there was force and 
pertinency in the remark of our republican servant Baptiste, 
when he said, '' if we are ever to have liberty in Italy, we 
must bury the Pope beneath the ruins of the Vatican and 
St. Peter's." There is a magic in their very names, a 
power in their majesty which still give strength and 
endurance to the Papacy. 

It has been truly and finely said, " that Saint Peter's is 
the grandest temple that man ever raised to his God — 
while the Vatican is the noblest he ever raised to himself;" 
and it is so. Whatever judgments we may be disposed 
to pass upon the Popes in their spiritual capacity, no 
tourist, who saunters through the countless chambers of 
the Vatican, where buried art is restored to life and light 
again: but will freely admit their claim as temporal sove- 
reigns to the gratitude of the scholar and the artist. 

The Museum of the Vatican, is next to the Ruins, the 
most irresistible attraction of modern Piome — a grand and 
glorious Treasure House of Art, where one might range 
tor years, and find attractions, ever varying, ever new. 
You can visit these magnificent Halls day after day, and 
still find fresh subjects for contemplation; new objects to 
gaze at and admire. 

The first visit is bewildering. Divinities — Emperors 

— Philosophers — Orators and Statesmen of Imperial 

Rome, seem rushing past in most tantalizing confusion ; 

and it is not until after repeated visits, and much study 

that you are enabled to classify and arrange them, so as 

to derive that pleasure in their contemplation, which always 

accompanies familiarity with the higher works of art. The 

dimensions of this Palace, and the number of rooms 

assigned to it, border on the marvellous. The whole 
z2 



294 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

pile of buildings, together witli the gardens,^ comprise 
a circumference of some six miles. There is nothing 
architecturally grand about its externals. On the contrary 
it is a clumsy mass, and interferes greatly by its provoking 
proximity, with the appearance of St. Peter's. It is in 
reality a collection of apartments built by several Popes. 
The date of its first commencement is not known, but it 
was somewhere in the ninth century. The number of 
apartments it contains is over four thousand^ and when 
you take into consideration their immense size, the mag- 
nificence they display, and the noble works of art by which 
they are adorned, surely no building in the world can 
compare with it. 

The galleries of the Vatican consist of several apart- 
ments, hails and temples, some lined with marble, 
others paved with ancient mosaics, and all filled with 
statues, vases, candelabra, tombs and altars. 

The size and proportion of these noble apartments — 
their rich materials and furniture, the well-managed light 
pouring down upon them, and the multiplicity of admira- 
ble articles collected and deposited in them, fill the mind 
with astonishment and delight; forming the most magnifi- 
cent and grand combination one can conceive of. Never 
were the divinities of Greece and Rome, honored with 
nobler temples — never did they stand on richer pedestals 
never were more glorious domes spread above their heads, 
or brighter and more costly pavements extended at their 
feet. Seated in such shrines, they seem to look down 
upon the crowd of votaries, and once more to challenge 
the admiration of mankind — while kings and emperors, 
heroes and philosoj)hers, drawn up in ranks before and 
around them, increase their state, and form a magnificent 
and becoming retinue. 



THE VATICAN. 295 

Among the first and most touching objects that present 
themselves to the visitor's regard, are the interesting series 
of Christian monuments, or rather funereal inscriptions 
taken from the Catacombs, and lining an entire side 
of the great corridor, that he first enters. They com- 
mence with the age of the apostles, and are generally in 
Greek — most of them are simple tributes of afi'ection and 
sorrow, frequently reminding one by some expression, or 
by some holy and endearing symbol of our faith, tliat they 
were the ofi'erings of those who mourned; but at the same 
time, felt that their aflSiiction was ^Might,^' and but for a 
moment — who sorrowed, but with a sorrow full of the 
hope of immortality. Pas^^sing through this great corridor, 
lined on the one side with Pagan, and on the other with 
these Christian inscriptions — amounting in all to nearly 
four thousand — you arrive at a Gallery, known by the 
name of the Museo Chiarimonte. On entering the gate- 
way, your attention is at once attracted by two recumbent 
statues on your left, which pass in the printed catalogues, 
under the names of ^''Autumn and Winter" — but the repre- 
sentation of Autumn, is by far the finest. These are sup- 
posed to be of no later origin than the time of Hadrian. 
The countenance of the recumbent figure, representing 
Autumn, is beautifully benignant. The figures of sportive 
children — the one the Genius of the Vintage, presenting 
grapes to Autumn, are remarkable for their truthfulness to 
nature, and their serene beauty of expression. One cannot 
help being struck with the tendency of the Pagan religion, 
to connect the gayest images of life with the idea of death, 
in their Elysium, their funeral games and tombs, (so con- 
trasted in this respect with the faith that ever looks to 
brighter worlds beyond). And as this is evidently a sar- 



296 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

cophagus, tlie recumbent figure witli the sportive chilclrcn 
around, is certainly a fair exemplification of it. On the 
front of this sarcophagus, may be observed relievi, very 
boldly sculptured of fatber and motber, with their son, 
who wears suspended round bis neck, the '^bolla,'' an 
ornament deemed talismanic, of which Horace, Virgil, 
and Martial speak — tbis ornament, all tbe Koman chil- 
dren wore, until tbey had attained the age for assuming 
tbe toga. A sbort distance from tbese allegorical figures, 
may be noticed tbe statue of Sleep or the Glenius of Death. 
Tbis is tbe figure mentioned by Byron, as among tbose 
in tbe Va-tican that made tbe greatest impression upon 
him. It looks too refined for tbe genius of Paganism — 
and seems more akin to tbat of Christianity. If by it is 
intended tbe Angel of Deatb, it is so refined and affect- 
ingly graceful, tbat it recommends itself to tbe bopeful 
feelings of Cbristianity. We migbt justly say of its artist, 

"He feared not death, whose calm and gracious thought, 
Of the last hour, has settled thus in thee." 

As one has well said, wbose soul was alive to every image 
of tbe beautiful, '^It seems like tbe fading away of an ex- 
istence, in a calm, painless transit, so etherializing to the 
palpable form, that as we gaze, we migbt fancy it about 
to vanisb, or like tbe Narcissus of fable, to undergo some 
metamorpbose still more beautiful.'^ Tbe headless and 
mutilated figure, wbich stands near tbe Genius of Sleep, 
has been by many supposed to be a figure of Diana, 
descending from ber chariot to visit tbe sleeping Endy- 
mion. Mutilated as it is, tbere is a grandeur about its 
form exceedingly striking, while tbe appearance of tbe 
drapery as if agitated by rapid motion, and evidently be- 



THE VATICAN. 297 

longing to a figure intended to be represented in quick 
flight, is in an artistic point of view, a most surprising 
effort of the chisel. This valuable fragment was found in 
the Quirinal Gardens — whither it had been brought from 
Tivoli, and is supposed once to have adorned that great 
centre of elegance and art, the Villa of Hadrian. I am 
inclined to believe, that the opinion of Braun, is correct 
in reference to this fragment — and that it once represented 
a daughter of Niobe, in rapid flight from the arrows of the 
avenging and angry Grod. There is certainly a striking 
similarity in this torso, with the attitude and position of 
one of Niobe's children in the celebrated group at Flo- 
rence. The Grerman critic very truthfully remarks — 
"that the fearful catastrophe impending over this daughter 
of Niobe, is most touchingly and beautifully mirrored in 
this her rapid flight— the stormy wind betokened by her 
fluttering robe seems to combine with the fate about to 
overtake her. The spell arresting the steps of persons 
doomed to death, at the moment when escape seems still 
possible, is here embodied before our eyes.'' Among the 
rare treasures collected in this gallery, we must not omit 
to notice the bust of the young Augustus — so exquisitely 
beautiful in the dazzling whiteness and polish of the mar- 
ble, and so full of expression and power in the contour of 
the brow. But aside from its beauty as a work of art, it 
possesses an interest from the fact, that we have here pre- 
served the youthful features of the favorite nephew of 
Julius Ccesar. This world-renowned bust was discovered 
during the excavations made at Ostia in the beginning of 
the present century, and no doubt once graced the Temple 
erected to the dignified Augustus, at that place in his life- 
time. Every one is struck at first sight, with the resem- 



298 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

blance which this bust bears to that of Napoleon in his 
more advanced years. There is a maturity of expression in 
the broad calm brow^ which scarcely harmonizes with the 
youthful appearance of the future Emperor. But Augus- 
tus, it must be remembered, ripened prematurely into 
manhood, beneath the cares and responsibilities of state, 
that were thrust upon him, by his celebrated uncle, who 
early initiated him into his views of life and universal 
dominion. 

The colossal statue of Tiberius, is among the most strik- 
ing figures in this hall. It is in a sitting posture, and 
was discovered at Veii in 1811. The figure is majestic, 
and conveys to the mind a very forcible conception of the 
dignity and awe-inspiring presence of Rome's world sub- 
duing Emperors. A civic crown adorns his head — and 
one hand is laid upon the sword at his side, while the 
other holds the sceptre of universal dominion. There is 
a sternness about the lowering brow, and an expression 
around the compressed lips, that shadow forth all the evil 
inclinations, which made their home in the heart of this 
monster. The citizens of Rome, sufi'ering and smarting 
from the effects of the cruel exactions of the imperial 
tyrant, immediately after death had removed his dreaded 
presence from their sight, commenced hurling his statues 
from their pedestals in the city, and appear to have de- 
stroyed them utterly. I do not remember in all Italy, to 
have seen a single statue of this Emperor, found amid the 
ruins of ancient Rome : all of them appear to have come 
from the provincial towns, where they had not suffered so 
directly from his cruel mandates. Near this statue is a 
colossal head of the imperial monster, found at the 
same place — and perhaps in its expression, seems to want 



THE VATICAN. 299 

the truthfulness of the other — in conferring a character 
of intellect and clemency upon the face, which the original 
never possessed. 

There are very few statues in this hall surpassing that 
of Clio, the Muse of History, in their perfect adaptation 
to their subject. She stands there in mute majesty, 
crowned with laurel, while beside her rests a casket for 
books and a scroll. Nothing could be more calmly gracious 
than her expression : more majestic, and yet delicate than 
the form. A lofty idea of the attributes of History, is con- 
veyed by this serenely beautiful work of the ancient chisel. 
History is here represented as a benignant, dispassionate 
guardian of Truth, and a rewarder of Virtue. 

In the statue of the Venus Gabina, so called, because 
found at the ancient city of Gabii, we have an idea of this 
goddess, far more elevated than is displayed in most of her 
statues. In this graceful figure the feeling seems to rise 
infinitely above the mythology of antiquity. It is not 
merely the type of physical beauty which is presented, but 
the personification of a principle, asserting its sway over 
the soul by a mysterious, yet benificent spell. She seems 
here, 

" la all her sovereignty of charms arrayed," 

to unite the benign genius, with the attributes of an enchan- 
tress queen — and Horace's 

" O Venus Regina Cnidi Paphique," 

would be a fit apostrophe to such a goddess. 

Near this statue, may be noticed a head of Neptune of 
colossal proportions. This head of the gloomy ruler of 
the waves, was discovered at Ostia. Representations of 
Neptune in the collections, are as rare as those of the King 



300 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

of gods and men are abundant. The hair falls somewhat 
wildly on each side of the forehead, intending to exhibit 
the effect of the winds that play over the surface of old 
ocean. The beard is full and strong, and the lips partly 
open, giving a peculiar appearance to the face, which is 
not without an expression of that serenity and dignity so 
noticeable in all the busts of Jupiter. 

The figure of Venus rising from the sea, nearly opposite 
the head of Neptune, is certainly a mcst lovely figure; the 
character that of innocence, and girlhood. Venus is here 
represented leaving the bath, with the vase of perfumes ia 
one hand for anointing the hair, and perhaps the limbs 
also, as was the custom after bathing. This statue appears 
to be formed of three separate antique fragments, the 
arms and feet being restored by a modern hand : it is sup- 
posed to be a copy from a G-reek original, by a Roman 
sculptor. 

It would be in vain to attempt a description of the seven 
hundred and fifty distinct subjects which adorn the sides 
of this magnificent hail. We have only selected from the 
collection such as commended themselves forcibly to our 
mind, although there are numerous others, no doubt as 
much deserving of notice. A hasty glance over the frag- 
ments of single statues and groups, scattered along this 
hall, will serve to show how great a loss archseology has 
sustained — although, had the monuments to which these 
belong come down to us, as has been well observed " the 
Vatican, would have scarce sufficed to afford them suitable 
accommodation. 

Immediately after passing the screen work," to enter the 
gallery we have just been exploring, a portal to the 
left is reached, which is the entrance to the gallery styled 



THE VATICAN. 301 

'^11 Braccio Nuovo/' formed likewise under the nmnifi- 
cence of Pius VII. This hall is very magnificent in its 
proportions, and in shape is somewhat in the form of a 
Greek cross. The first thing that attracts attention on 
entering the hall is the Caryatid on the right, believed 
to be one of the six that sustained the portico of the tem- 
ple of Pandrosia, at Athens. The story of the city of 
Caria, whose male inhabitants (for their alliance witE the 
Persians) were put to the sword^ and the females made 
slaves, and condemned to carry burdens, by the Athenians, 
is well known, as being perpetuated in these peculiar sta- 
tues, which served for architectural purposes. There is 
nothing strikingly graceful in this architectural idiosyncrasy 
of the Grecian artist; neither in form nor expression, and 
it is only curious as a perpetuation of an historical fact. 

Near it is the beautiful group representing Silenus, with 
the infant Bacchus in his arms. This group arrests your 
attention at once upon your entrance. The artist does not 
here represent Silenus as the grotesque and jovial demi- 
god; but as the philosopher, who accompanied Bacchus on 
his expedition to India, to assist him with the counsels" of 
wisdom. Apart from all mythical relations, and simply 
keeping in view the manner in which infancy and age are 
here brought into contact, this group certainly exhibits a 
touching scene. The slender figure of the aged Silenus 
rests with firmly planted feet, against the trunk of a tree, 
and gazes with an expression of deep but satisfied serious- 
ness on the beautiful infant cradled in Lis arms. As a 
classical tourist has very well remarked, "It is not the vain 
recollections of his own never returning youth, which are 
portrayed in the figure of this Silenus; but that pure joy, 
observed in those who, amid the tumults of earth, have 
learn<2d to purify all selfish feelings^ aud_to find true 

AA 



302 rOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

satisfaction in the welfare of others/' The ancients under 
the mythological allusion to SilenuS; couched a far deeper 
meaning than is generally attached to this inferior divinity. 
Who that is familiar with the classics, can forget that 
beautiful record in the sixth Eclogue of Yirgil, when he 
is surprised by the Shepherds, who he had often flattered 
with the hope of hearing his song; and being bound by 
them, playfully yields, uttering a song, or rather a vatici- 
nation, in which the profound mysteries of the origin of 
things, and a complete system of cosmogony are revealed, 
whilst brutes, and even inanimate nature listen fascinated 
to the sound. This prophetic power belonged to Silenus, 
and it is in his character of prophet and seer, that he is so 
often represented by the ancients as the tutor of Bacchus. 
In his prophetic character his eye penetrates the future, 
and recognizes in the youth before him, "the coming man'' 
who is to bring light and knowledge, scattering blessings 
over the earth. It has always appeared to me that in this 
mythological conception, there was a repetition of the 
prophetic allusions of the Old Testament, to the arrival 
of the new dispensation, which was to bring life and im- 
mortality to light through the gospel, coming with ^'healing 
on its wings'' for the nations. Did not the Pagan borrow 
from the Jew ? 

Close to Silenus and Bacchus is the graceful statue 
of Antinous with the attributes of Yertumnus. It is the 
figure of a man, made god-like by the divine skill of the 
sculptor. Antinous was the friend and favorite of the 
princely Emperor Hadrian. This Emperor, while in Egypt, 
in a moment of despondency, conceived that his own life 
must be forfeited, unless some other life was sacrificed for 
his own : and the faithful Antinous drowned himself in 
the Nile, to save his friend and master. The grateful 



THE VATICAN. 303 

Emperor placed him among the gods , erected temples to 
his worship, and employed all the sculptor's skill to deli- 
neate him in the perfection of beauty and of youth. 
There are many of these statues still to be found in Rome, 
but this, and the colossal one in the Lateran Museum are 
the finest. There is a sweet serenity about the expression 
of both, that at once attracts and fascinates the spectator, 
while the graceful and fine proportions of the figure em- 
body all the elements of manly beauty. 

Near the Antinous, is according to my idea one of the 
finest works of ancient Art in all the vast collections in 
Rome. Yisconti regards this statue as essentially Greek, 
though belonging to an epoch which preceded the decline. 
The h<3ad, though exceedingly beautiful, is a restoration. 
This statue passes in the catalogues as that of Pudicitia, 
or Modesty. By some, it has been conceived to be a rep- 
resentation of the Tragic Muse ; by others, an abstract of 
all the virtuous characteristics of a Roman matron : but 
call it by what name they will, it must ever remain as one 
of the finest specimens of the skill of the Grecian chisel 
that has come down to us. It embodies the perfection of 
beauty and grace, more than any other statue in the Halls 
of ancient Art at Rome. And with all that beauty and 
grace so captivating, is combined a sublime dignity which 
impresses you from the first with a sort of awe. And then 
too the wonderful artistic execution of the minor details — 
the delicate and transparent folds of the gracefully ma- 
naged drapery — the outline of the beautifully rounded 
arm beneath — the perfect poise of the figure : — all 
unite t(^ prove that it was the creation of the sculptor's 
chisel, when art was achieving its loftiest triumphs in 
Greece. This statue is of great age, and numbers its 



304 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

years by tLousands : but still it is in a wondrous state of 
preservation — discolored it is true by the stains of Time, 
but nothing injured in its outline. Although the head is 
comparatively modern — yet deprived of this and standing 
there as a headless trunk, like the Torso of Hercules, or 
the flying Niobe^ to which allusion has above been made, 
it would still be one of the noblest figures in the collec- 
tion. I can never forget the wonderful impression made 
by this statue upon the entire party who visited the halls 
of the Vatican with me, by torch light. No sooner had 
the full blaze of the torches flashed upon the face, than it 
was lit up by an expression so perfectly life-like, that it 
extorted an exclamation of delighted surprise from more 
than one of our party. The dark tints, which in the garish 
light of day discolored the drapery, vanished, and the 
marble shone forth again with all that pure whiteness 
which belonged to it, when the last stroke of the sculptor's 
chisel^ left it 

" A thing of beauty, and a joy forever." 

Wonderful too, was the effect of this magical light, as it 
fell flickeringly upon the graceful folds of the drapery. It 
seemed as if the wind had stirred it, or as though it rose 
and fell beneath the soft breathings of the life-like figure 
before us. To use the language of an artist, applied to 
another statue, ''looking at the regal aspect, the proudly 
beautiful lip, the self-possession and graceful majesty of 
this figure, we can hardly suppose that the Art capable of 
producing this, could have flourished in a state of society 
where the position of woman, was other than surrounded 
with dignity and respect ; or where high moral influences 
were not apprehended and recognized in her.'' 



THE VATICAN. 305 

Passing over to the otter sideband nearly at the foot of 
the recumbent and majestic figure of the colossal Eiver 
God, we have another original from the Greek chisel. It 
is the statue of Diana, the chaste goddess of the night, 
represented at the moment when on the heights of Latmos, 
she descries the sleeping Endymion. It is certainly one 
of the most beautiful representations of this divinity. A 
perfect story in marble of affection watching over the 
sleep of the loved object, '^all unconscious of the joy 'tis 
giving. '^ In the fillet confining the hair, is discernible 
the holes in which the crescent once rested, indicating 
that she is represented here as the goddess of the moon, 
and not in her character the divine huntress. This statue 
was discovered a few miles from the Porta Cavalleggiera, 
among some ruins, either those of a villa or a temple to 
the goddess. 

In the majestic statue of the Minerva Medica, found 
in the penetralia of the ruin I have described, in the last 
chapter, we have a personation of this goddess, who com- 
bines so many virtues in her mythological character. Here 
we have the gracious aspect of the goddess in ^' the Odys- 
sey,'' and the '"'Furies'' of Eschylus. The breastplate 
formed of scales, is thrown with graceful negligence over 
the bosom, and she holds the ample mantle drawn over her 
left shoulder, lightly grasped in the left hand. At her 
feet is a serpent, the emblem of Esculapius, and which 
has given the name to the figure. This, like some of the 
statues of Jove, Hercules and Apollo, to be found in the 
Yatican, embodies to the full all the mythological charac- 
teristics. It is a figure which men might almost be 
excused, for falling down before it to worship ; and 

when standing in majestic silence in its ancient fane, 
aa2 



300 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

might well fill devout worshippers with awe. It would be 
wholly out of my power, even if I wished it, to name, far 
less to describe, the many objects of interest contained in 
this, or the other immense Statuary Halls of the Vatican. 
You may wander from one long gallery to another, make 
the round of the circular and octagonal apartments — visit 
the small chambers that surround the court of the Foun- 
tain — ascend the staircase terminated by the columns of 
African marble — stand among the pillars of alabaster in 
the court of the Faun — wander through the Etruscan 
collection, and days will not suffice to accomplish even 
this physical labor, nor weeks to catalogue the extent of 
the noble collection : and yet this contains but a very 
small fragmentary portion of the Treasures of Art that 
belonged to the Imperial City. The object of this chap- 
ter, is simply to notice as we pass, some of the most re- 
markable of the marble treasures of this wonderful Muse- 
um. Nearly in the centre of the hall, and opposite to 
one of the recesses, reclines a colossal statue of the Nile 
as a River God, leaning on a sphinx. In different posi- 
tions upon the figure, are represented sixteen children, 
denoting the sixteen cubits increase of the river, and every 
one of these children is in such manner figured, that it ad- 
mirably describes the effect, which at that rise and increase 
it wrought on the land of Egypt. As for example, the 
sixteenth child is placed upon a shoulder of the river, 
with a basket of flowers and fruits upon its head, signify- 
ing that the increase of the river to the sixteenth cubit, 
enriches the earth with fruit, and brings gladness to it : 
but all of the children have a like symbolical meaning. 
There is an appearance of repose about this figure truly 
marvellous, and a majesty in the features, that should 
alone belong to divinity. 



THE VATICAN. 807 

We must not leave this superb hall without noticing 
the exquisite pavement of ancient mosaics, by which 
it is adorned. They were brought from the ruins of a 
villa near Tormarancio, and are remarkable specimens of 
the skill of the ancients in this exquisite work. The 
figures too, are so arranged, that, from whatever point of 
view, the eye falls upon this carpet in stone, part of the 
figures appear in an upright position. The whole story of 
the shipwreck of Ulysses, is here told with all the faith- 
fulness of a painting, and in colors which will never fade. 

In the Museo Pio Clementino is to be found the cele- 
brated Belvidere Torso, a mutilated trunk without arms, 
and but the mere fragment of thighs, and yet so won- 
derful in its delineations that Michael Angelo and Raphael 
educated and developed their genius by its study. Mengs 
considered this Torso to unite the beauties of all the other 
antique statues, to possess a variety so perfect, that it was 
truly divine. It dates back beyond the age of Alexander 
the Great, and is supposed to have been the work of Apol- 
lonius, an Athenian. It requires an artistic taste educated 
up to a very high point, to appreciate and understand the 
encomiums lavished upon this huge lump of marble, by 
enraptured artists. But near to it may be noticed a sar- 
cophagus, whose history awakens an interest in the breast, 
which has been steeled to all impressions from the won- 
drous Torso. I allude to that stone cofiin which once held 
the body, not the ashes, (for this family never burned their 
dead), of Lucius Cornelius Scipio Barbatus, the ancestor 
of the great Scipio Africanus. Upon its sides you can 
read, still distinct, the old Latin inscription, proclaiming the 
merits of this great forefather of the Scipios, in genuine 
patriarchal fashion, 



308 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

" Cornelius Lucius Scipio the 
Bearded, the lawful son of his 
Father Gneius, a valiant man 
And wise, whose person nearly 
Resembled his virtue. 
Consul, Censor, iEdile so he was among you. 
Taurasia, Cisauna in Samnium has he taken 
All Lucania has he subjected, 
And hostages has he carried away." 

This sarcophagns was found in tlie latter part of the 
last century in the Vigna Sassi^ in the tomb of the Scipios. 
It dates back to the fifth century after the foundation of 
the city. The carvings on the lid and base are certainly 
remarkably tine, and indicate considerable advance in art. 

In the Hall of the Meleager we have the statue of the 
hero that confers upon it the name. He is represented as 
reposing on a lance, after having slain the Caledonian boar. 
The left hand which the lance sustained has perished, and 
it is said that even Michael Angelo shrunk from restoring 
it. Succeeding generations it appears have manifested the 
same timidity, as it remains still mutilated. The sculp- 
tor has indulged in a peculiarity in this statue for the 
purpose of representing the fairness of complexion, which 
belonged to Meleager — Homer calling him Xantlios, yel- 
low or fair. In the eyebrows, there is an absence of the 
indenture commonly used to supply the eifect of the dark 
color^ which together with the softness of the contour, 
indicates this fairness of complexion. The statue was 
found on the Janiculum, outside the Porta Portese. Just 
behind the Meleager is a bust of Plato, with a profile 
remarkably beautiful, reminding one of the type adopted 
by the ancient painters for that of the Redeemer. 

In a hall in close vicinity to that of the Meleager, is 



THE VATICAN. 



809 



the Antinous, now changed in the catalogue to a Mercury. 
But it possesses not one of the characteristics of the god. 
The wings, the caduceus, and every other emblem of Mer- 
cury are wanting. The countenance also resembles that 
which is usually given to Antinous. It may be that the 
sculptor did not intend to represent the character of the 
cajoling and thoroughly undignified Mercury, as he is 
presented at least by one aspect of his fabulous adventures : 
but only as the gracious messenger of the gods, the Genius 
of Eloquence, the inventor of the seven chorded lyre, the 
conductor of disembodied spirits. You next enter an octa- 
gonal court, surrounded by a portico decorated with superb 
marble columns, and enriched with some of the most 
splendid monuments of ancient magnificence: — statues and 
relievos, baths formed of marble and granite, as bright as 
though they had just left the carver's hands; sarcophagi 
embellished with exquisite sculpture; vases and votive 
altars. But it is in the recesses of this grand court, that 
the greatest treasures of the Vatican are contained, the 
Laocoon and the Apollo Belvidere. The first impressions 
produced by gazing on the wonderful group of the Laocoon 
are certainly those of disappointment. There seems to be 
a want of harmony in the figures ; and that defect pre- 
sents itself at all times. The bodies of the father and his 
sons are relatively out of proportion : for if the sons are 
viewed separately, they by no means present the appear- 
ance of boys, but of men ; whereas, the father is so much 
larger, that either he must be a giant, or his sons dwarfs. 
But aside from this defect, it is certainly the most expres- 
sive group of statuary in the Yatican. Yirgil describes 
Laocoon as seized by the serpent whilst attempting to save 
his children, the first victims. The lines of the Eneid^ 

" Ille simul manibus tendit divellere nodos 
CJamores simul horrendos ad sidera tollit ;" 



310 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

are in accordance with the plastic treatment of the story ; 
otherwise, the sculptor has not borrowed much from the 
poet. Far more than physical pain is conveyed in this 
wonderful group — a Ibfty defiance of the suffering, which 
if it has overpowered the body, has not subdued the souL 
The wrath of Minerva, to which Laocoon fell a victim, 
was excited, by an act in itself patriotic and heroic, the 
hurling of the lance to discover the deception of the 
wooden horse for the preservation of Troy. He becomes 
thus dying, a martyr to his country, and the anticipation of 
her ruin is the most intense of sorrows. This is certainly 
expressed in the countenance, and with the distorted face, 
the starting sinews and distended limbs, entwined in the 
inextricable folds of the serpents, offer a most appalling 
picture of human suffering. 

Not far from the cabinet of the Laocoon, in admirable 
preservation stands the Apollo Belvidere. Here in truth, 
we have the noblest and the loftiest of the sons of 74eus. 
Apollo, in the higher conception of the religion of the 
ancients, was the deification of the beautiful, the heroic, 
the poetic and the benign. The fable of the girl who pined 
for love toward Apollo, and was metamorphosed into the 
sun-flower, which ever turns to the Grod of Day, seems 
intelligible when you look at this incomparable statue : 

" the delicate form, a dream of love 

Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast 
Longed for a deathless lover from above. 
And maddened in that vision." 

A variety of opinions have been expressed as to the cha- 
racter in which the sculptor intended to represent Apollo. 
Spence conceived him to be a hunter : other opinions are, 
that he has just defeated the giant Tityvs; that he has 
expended all his arrows against the Achians; that he has 



THE VATICAN. 311 

been slaying the fair Niobe and her children, or the 
faithless Coronis. The prevailing opinion however is, that 
he has just slain the serpent Python. He certainly appears 
from the attitude, and from the fragment of a bow in his 
left hand, to have just discharged an arrow. A quiver is 
on his back, and his feet are exactly in the attitude of a 
person who has drawn his bow, and is watching the pro- 
gress of his arrow. This unique statue was discovered 
near Porto D'Anzio, where it no doubt constituted one of 
the ornaments of the imperial villas of ancient Antium. 
Out of this court where the Apollo stands, you pass into a 
larger apartment filled with various animals of G-reek and 
Roman sculpture. The floor is composed of curious and 
handsome mosaics, mostly found at Palestrina, the ancient 
Preneste. 

In the Hall of the Busts, which is the most historically, 
if not the most artistically interesting section of the Mu- 
seum, we have a collection of original busts of statesmen, 
heroes and philosophers of antiquity, mingled with the 
busts of the principal gods of the heathen mythology. 
This hall is ornamented with columns inlaid with giallo 
antico, with corresponding pilasters of variegated marble : 
while the floor is ornamented with rare mosaics. It would 
be in vain to attempt the mention of each particular object 
of interest in this unique collection. The mention of one 
or two will suffice. A most remarkable bust in the series 
is that representing Augustus, in advanced age. A wreath 
of artificial laurel, worked round a diadem, encircles the 
brow, with an orbicular gem in the centre, containing the 
profile of Julius Caesar. This circlet is supposed to be 
emblematic of the sacerdotal character of the Emperor, 
the effigy on these gems being always of that of a god or 
a deified mortal. Csesar having been deified, it may be 



312 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

that Augustus is here represented as one of the priesthood 
of the divine Julius. There is a full length sitting statue 
of Jupiter, terminating the vista. Great dignity and ma- 
jesty are here expressed. It calls to your mind the Jupiter 
invoked by Horace as 

" Gentis huraanas Pater atque Gustos," 

more calm and raised above the shocks of passion than the 
Jupiter of Homer, though the sire of deities who shakes 
his ambrosial curls, till all Olympus trembles at the nod, 
in the Iliad, might be pictured to the mind in a form like 
this. Grave, austere and majestic, this statue of Jupiter 
looks down upon the thronging crowds of the Vatican^ as 
he once looked down from his shrine, upon the worship- 
pers in his temple. 

The Hall of the Muses, is one of the most richly 
decorated, and tastefully ornamented of any in the Vati- 
can. The pavements are inlaid with antique mosaics, the 
subjects of which are mostly theatrical — the figures of 
actors in their peculiar costumes and masks 3 in the centre 
a head of Medusa surrounded with arabesques of beautiful 
design. Here we have in marble, exquisitely sculptured, 
the nine daughters of Mnemosyne, preceded by Apollo 
with the lute. All of these statues are ancient, and were 
discovered in the villa of Cassius, near Home. Here too 
are original busts of Demosthenes, ^schines, Zeno the 
Stoic, of Pericles and Periander. In the Hall of the 
Greek Cross is the celebrated statue of Venus called of 
Gnidos, supposed to be from the chisel of Praxiteles, 
which is mentioned by Pliny, "as illustrious throughout 
the world.'^ It may be but a copy, but it is certainly the 
finest statue of the goddess in Italy. ''The Cytherian 
Zone," binding all things with beauty, might be proudly. 



THE VATICAN. 313 

claimed as the due attribute of such an encliantress. We 
are too apt to associate coarseness and vulgarity with the 
attributes of Venus: but does not the mythological con- 
ception of this divinity personify the principle that ani- 
mated nature with life, infusing the soul of joy and beauty 
into every thing ? And does not the magnificent exordium 
of Lucretius to '' alma Venus," before whom the tempests 
are laid, the clouds disperse, the heaven and ocean become 
radiant with smiles, and the earth strews its surface with 
flowers — comprise her more lofty and benificent aspects? 
At all events in this statue the sculptor seems to have been 
inspired with the same ideas as the poet. 

It would be vain to attempt a description of the nume- 
rous choice things of art that crowd hall after hall of 
this stupendous Museum. The visitor is overwhelmed 
with the multiplicity of objects. The few that we have 
named must sufiice. The multij)licity and variety of an- 
cient artistic treasures that crowd the immense halls of the 
Vatican, CapitX)line, and Lateran Museums bewilder and 
stupefy the senses : and yet these immense depositories 
contain a small part only of the former splendor of Rome. 
ETery church is adorned with ancient columns, every 
palace has a gallery of ancient art : even foreign countries 
owe their boasts of statuary to Eome; — and the treasure 
is still not exhausted : 

" Though every realm and state, 



With Rome's august remains — heroes and gods- 
Deck their long galleries and winding groves;^ 
Yet miss we not the innnmerable theits — 
For still profuse of glories teems the waste." 



B B 



CHAPTER VI. 

WANDERINGS AMONG THE CATACOMBS. 

Origin of the Catacombs — Catacombs of St. Calixtus — Epitaphs — 
Little Chapels — Frescoes — Portrait of Christ — The Burial 
Place of St. Paul. 

If your inspection of Kome has confined itself only to 
her monumental and artistic treasures, you have still left 
a most interesting portion unexamined. There is a silent 
city which extends its ramifications under busy life above; 
having its history^ its monuments and associations fraught 
with interest the most profound. I allude to the Catacombs. 

The origin of these sepulchral chambers has been keenly 
disputed. The excavations in which they began, were 
most certainly made for the purpose of digging out the 
volcanic earth used by the ancient, as well as the modern 
builders. There can be little question that these quarries 
and caves were ancient, long before the cradle of the Twins 
floated among the reeds of the Tiber, or the udders of the 
she-wolf gave down the strengthening milk that nourished 
the Founder of the Seven Hilled City. The cities that 
once crowded the Campagna were built no-doubt out of the 
materials taken from these quarries. When the Romans 
obtained a foot-hold on the banks of the Tiber, and began 
to erect Temples, Forums and Thermae, then the demand 
for this material for building constantly increased, and so 
it continued under the magnificent reigns of the Twelve 
Csesars, down to the time when the Romans left off quarry- 
ing and turned to destroying old buildings to find mate- 
rials for new. 



THE CATACOMBS. 315 

These caves or excavations seem to have been used as 
early as the first century of our era, as hiding places, 
caves of refuge by the Christians. Pagan superstition had 
pointed out these desolate places, these dark and deep ex- 
cavations as the spots haunted by Canidia and her weird 
sister old Sagana; of course they were shunned by the 
superstitious Komans — and this therefore made them a 
most secure place of concealment for the Christians. The 
Christians at first interred in them, no other bodies but 
those of their martyrs, which they were often forced to 
conceal from their persecutors. It has been very plausibly 
conjectured that many of the workmen employed in the 
excavations being Christians, first suggested to their fellow 
worshippers in Rome, the use of these retreats for the ob- 
servance of their religious rites, thus guarding them into 
those recesses which very early thus became places of con- 
cealment and devotion. No doubt the laborers in these 
subterranean galleries formed a class by themselves. They 
were for the most part slaves, the degraded and the out- 
casts of the Imperial City. It was natural that the religion 
which proclaimed the great truth of the equality of man- 
kind before God — which taught the hereditary bondsmen, 
to look to the future as a reward for all the sufi'erings 
and irregularities of this life — that had selected fisher- 
men and publicans for apostles, should be received with 
joy and embraced with gladness, by the neglected and 
despised laborers in these sand caves. 

One morning we obtained a special permit to visit the 
Catacombs of St. Calixtus, which contain memorials of 
Christianity, as early as the first century, before the last of 
the Apostles had left the earth. 

About two miles from the Saint Sebastian gate, after 



B16 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

traversing a portion of the Appian Way, we entered a 
large field occupying the right of the road, command' 
ing a most glorious view over the Campagna, and of the 
distant ranges of the Appenines. In the centre of this 
field we came to a large opening, which revealed a long 
and steep staircase of stone, going down as it were into the 
very bowels of the earth. As we descended, the transition 
from the outer world where all was sunshine and warmth, 
into the regions of darkness and dampness below, reminded 
me of Dante's entrance into the Inferno. The first im- 
pression on entering these catacombs, when the light of 
day is almost instantly lost, and by the dim light of the 
torches one sees nothing in advance but the narrow gallery, 
lined with tiers of .sepulchres, filled with the decaying 
relics of humanit\ — uwd feels the path beneath his feet 
descending deeper and deeper — is one of horror that chills 
and astonishes the mind. The imagination then calls up 
what the reason rejects, and plays, as if fascinated, with 
ideal terrors. One i emcmbers then the story of the band 
of students who, with their tutor, several years ago, were 
lost in these very sepulchral chambers, and whose remains 
have never even been found. But soberly speaking, there is 
not the least occasion for fear — the localities are perfectly 
familiar to the guides, and many of the more dangerous 
galleries have been walled up, so as not to tempt the wan- 
dering foot of imprudent curiosity. Soon we were traversing 
numberless corridors, intersecting each other, some at acute, 
some at obtuse angles, and many of them terminating in a 
rudely formed niche, something in shape like the tribune of 
a church, so that you are obliged to strike ofi" in a direction 
quite different. As we advanced along the narrow galleries, 
on each side we observed with scarcely any interruption, 



THE CATACOMBS. 317 

two, and sometimes three tiers of grave-like shelves, such 
as only could have been used by Christians, whose custom 
it was, not to burn their dead. These graves were mostly 
open, and in many of them were crumbling fragments of 
bones, and in two or three almost entire skeletons 3 at their 
sides earthen flasks, and sometimes flasks of glass, contain- 
ing a red sediment, these last marking the resting place 
of the martyrs; this sediment being the remains of their 
blood, which these vases always contained in small quan- 
tities. Some of the tombs are still closed with slabs of 
marble, bearing the name and age of the deceased, with 
short comments^ all testifying their faith '^in brighter 
worlds beyond" — one "sleeps in Christ" — another is 
buried " that she may live in the Lord Jesus" — while on 
another we noticed almost the words of St. Paul himself. 
This inscription records the name of Cornelia, beloved 
daughter of Leopardus, and below the words, "• dying ! yet 
behold she lives." These inscriptions are chiefly in Latin, 
often mis-spelt or ungrammatical, occasionally written in 
Grreek characters, and are generally simple, but in some 
cases extremely afiecting. A parent briefly names the age 
of his beloved child, or a husband that of his wife, and the 
years of their wedded life : or the epitaph adds a pra^^er 
that the dead "may rest in peace," annexing some rudely 
carved emblem of the believer's hope and immortality. 
But most of all, I noticed the Cross in its simplest form, 
employed to testify the faith of the deceased. Whatever 
ignorance and blind credulity may have sprung up in later 
times, here in these catacombs^ upon these marble slabs, 
that shut their beloved dead from their sight, the early 
Christians have shown that with them there was no doubt 

of the full appreciation of that glorious sacrifice, " whereby 
bb2 



318 FOREIGN ETCHINGS, 

alone we obtain the remission of sins^ and are made par- 
takers of the Kingdom of Heaven." One inscription in- 
terested me very much, so sad and solemn in its details — 
a translation of which would be — " Oh unhappy times, 
when we cannot worship in safety, hardly in caverns — 
when we are hunted like wild beasts from the surface of 
the earth." It is in one of the chapels, and just over a 
fresco representing the three children in the fiery furnace, 
evidently emblematizing martyrdom. Most of the inscrip- 
tions are concise, and to the purpose, as the following : — 
"Here lies Godianus, deputy of Gaul, who was executed 
for the faith, with all his family;" and then the touching 
conclusion : " Theophilas a handmaid placed this stone in 
fear, but full of hope;;" as if none were left to pay this 
last tribute, but the faithful handmaid of the deputy of 
Gaul; or if for his faith his family had deserted him — 
then among the faithless, faithful only this poor menial, 
who in fear erected the memorial, which handed down to 
our times the master's faith, and the handmaiden's faith- 
fulness. 

The intelligent gentleman who accompanied us, seemed 
to think, that in the peculiar form of the^^e tombs, the 
early Christians desired to imitate that of the Saviour's, 
fashioning them like caves, and closing the aperture with 
a slab of marble or granite — a very likely hypothesis, and 
certainly a most beautiful impulse of love, treating as 
sacred, and to be imitated, even the accidental and out- 
ward details connected with the history on earth of "■ the 
Incarnate God." 

In passing along these narrow galleries of tombs, at 
intervals, you come to small vaulted chambers many of 
them still ornamented with the rude frescoes bv which the 



THE CATACOMBS. 319 

early Christians symbolized their faith. These small 
apartments are the little chapels, where several hundred 
feet below the surface of the earth they met by the dim 
light of torches for prayer and praise. The frescoes are 
in every case symbolical of facts in the Gospel History. 
Among- them we noticed the figure of the *' Good Shep- 
herd/^ represented by a rustic youth in tunic and buskins 
carrying a lamb upon his shoulders. Moses striking the 
rock, supposed to be illustrative of baptism. Daniel in 
the lion's den, emblematic of our Saviour passing through 
the valley of the shadow of death, and it may be of the 
Christian's conflict amid the trials of life, and particularly 
applicable and affecting to those, for whom it was thus 
depicted — Christians, whose faith was tried by the fires 
of persecution. Here too were frescoes representing Christ 
in the midst of the Apostles — his entry into Jerusalem — 
and several of the Kedeemcr's miracles, but principally 
the miracle at Cana, and that of the '' loaves and fishes." 
In one chapel I particularly noticed the Holy Spirit as 
the descending dove at the baptism of Jesus — and in one 
of the galleries, close by the tomb of the martyr Cecelia, 
a portrait of our Saviour in his humanit}^, representing 
him with one hand extended, as if in the act of blessinjr, 

a/ 

clasping with the other a book close to his breast. This 
is interesting, as it is unquestionably the earliest painting 
we have of Christ, being of the third or fourth century of 
our era, and although exceedingly rude in its design and 
finish, clearly furnishing the face from which Cimabue, 
Giotto, and most of the very early painters have copied. 
Our Saviour in his exaltation is not represented until 
many centuries later, as in the earliest ages of the Church, 
when its zeal was pure and devotional, the scene of the 



820 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

crucifixion was reverently avoided. It was not until the 
sixth century, when corruptions had crept in, that frescoes 
representing the solemn scene on Calvary are seen. 

This portrait of Christ in the Catacombs, is said to 
have been painted as early as the latter part of the second 
century. It represents a person with an oval face, straight 
nose, arched eyebrows, and a smooth but rather high fore- 
head — the hair parted and flowing in curls upon the 
shoulders, the beard not thick^ but short and divided. 
Over the left shoulder is thrown some drapery. How far 
this is authentic I am not prepared to say. It certainly 
is not a painting of the early date claimed for it ; and 
looks as if it might have been painted in the third or 
fourth century of the Christian era. The earliest description 
we have of Christ, is in a letter from Lentulus to the 
Roman Senate. This Lentulus is said to have been the 
successor to Pontius Pilate. Whether genuine or not, its 
description harmonizes with that^ which every Christian 
would desire to form of his Saviour. In this letter, he is 
described as "si man of lofty stature, of serious and im- 
posing countenance, inspiring love as well as fear. His 
hair is the color of wine, or of golden lustre, flowing in curls 
upon his shoulders, and divided down the centre of the head 
after the manner of the Nazarenes. The forehead is 
smooth and serene. The face without blemish, of a plea- 
sant slightly ruddy color. The expression noble and en- 
gaging — the nose and mouth of perfect form — the beard 
abundant and of the same color with the hair — the eyes 
blue and brilliant, and the most beautiful among the chil- 
dren of men.'' 

We were some three hours under ground wandering 
amid these sepulchral chambers; deeply interested with the 



THE CATACOMBS. 321 

revelations, which at every step opened upon us, t)eanng 
the strongest testimony to the truth of our religion. The 
Catacombs are certainly a gigantic monument to the truth 
of Christianity, no less affecting to the heart than con- 
vincing to the mind, proving with what rapidity its 
doctrines had spread — the persecutions and sufferings to 
which its professors had cheerfully submitted by reason of 
^' the hope that was in them," and more than all, the 
identity of the primitive Church in all its belief and prac- 
tice, with the scriptural record. The Romish Church, it 
is true, points to these Catacombs to prove that the com- 
plications of its splendid worship, were derived from the 
practices of the early Church ; but there is nothing in any 
of the pictorial representations of the earliest of the Cata- 
combs, or in the innumerable inscriptions upon its tombs, 
that furnish the least authority for the bold assumption. 
In other Catacombs, opened and used at a later date, and 
after corruptions had ci^ept into the Church, it is very true 
that the paintings of the Virgin and Child, and of some 
of the earliest Popes arrayed in their Pontificals, may be 
seen. But none of these paintings can claim an earlier 
date than the fifth or sixth century. 

These Catacombs of Calixtus are the earliest, and it is 
well ascertained from the dates on several of the tombs, 
that they were used as a burial place by the Christians, 
during the persecutions under Nero. It was in this per- 
secution St. Paul perished, and it may be that the tradi- 
tion which points to these Catacombs, as the first resting 
place of the body of the Apostle is correct. There seems 
no reason for distrust in the main features of the legend, 
certainly as to the scene of St. Paul's martyrdom and 
grave — the localities of which are in themselves likely 



S22 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

enougli, and derive some additional probability from the 
fact, that it was an event which would cling most tena- 
ciously to the memory of the early Church, even in its 
minutest details. The bones of the Apostle are said to 
have been removed from these Catacombs in the year 375, 
at a time when it is to be fairly presumed, that the Chris- 
tian Church could not have forgotten "where they laid 
him." The patriotism of New England still cherishes 
authentic memorials of ''the Pilgrim Fathers," and the 
places of the sepulture of many of them are known to 
this day— and there certainly is more abundant reason 
why the Christians should remember the burial place of 
the most zealous of the Apostles, at as early a day in the 
Christian era as 375, A. C. 

Grreat efforts are now being made by the Papal Govern- 
ment to secure the Catacombs from destruction. Many of 
the galleries have been strengthened by arches — and 
shafts are being sunk, to let the light of day into their 
gloomy recesses. Several new ones have lately been dis- 
covered, and are being excavated — -but of all of them the 
most interesting, because the most ancient, are the Cata- 
combs of Calixtus. 

No sovereign has interested himself more in these re- 
searches, and been at more expense in this work, than the 
present incumbent of the Papal Chair, wlio is so remarka- 
ble for the zeal he has manifested in sustaining and am- 
plifying the peculiar tenets of that Church, over which he 
presides with so much urbanity and dignity. Whatever 
may be said of the zealous ardor of the present Pontiff in 
advancing and sustaining peculiar doctrines — the rebuke 
of Michael Angelo can have no application to him. That 
celebrated painter, but still more celebrated sculptor, 



THE CATACOMBS. 



323 



having been told that in one of his paintings he had given 
too florid a complexion to the Apostle Peter, replied " that 
he had not intended to portray him as he was upon earth, 
but as he was likely to look in heaven^ where he must be 
continually blushing on account of the sad immoral lives 
of his successors/' 

As we emerged from the gloomy recesses of the Cata- 
combs, and stood once more in the bright sunshine — 
breathing heaven's pure air — the scene before us was 
one of melancholy interest. Directly below, stretched 
the long line of the Appian Way, marked at intervals 
by the crumbling ruins of the once sumptuous tombs, 
that their owners vainly built to make their names 
immortal ; before and around us the desolate waste 
of the Campagna lay in all its desolation. There cities 
had been born, and there they perished from the world 
forever — there fields had been lost and won, when E-ome 
was struggling for the mastery with the fierce nations that 
Burrounded her. It was over this vast plain swept that 
red whirlwind, descried by ^^the wan burghers" from the 
*' rock Tarpeian," when was heard, 

*' The trumpet's war note proud, 

The trampling and the hum, 

And plainly and more plainly 

Now through the gloom appears, 

Far to left, and far to right, 

In broken gleams of dark blue light, 

The long array of helmets bright, 

The long array of spears." • 

Looking towards the Eternal City, the huge dome of St. 
Peters lifted itself in air, which with the Tower of St. 
Angelo, and the high roof of the Palace of the Corsini 
were glowing in the light of departing day. There too, 



324 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 

just darkened by the advancing shadows of evening, might 
be discerned the grey and lofty pile of the Colosseum, 
and the desolate line of the Forum, with its solitary arches 
and ruined fragments. Words are insufficient to describe 
the melancholy emotions which crowd the mind on look- 
ing out upon such a scene as this. It is the huge grave 
which covers the remains of the loftiest human greatness 
that ever had existence. And gazing upon such a scene, 

" The heart runs o'er 
With silent homage of the great of old, 
The dead but sceptered sovereigns, who Still rul» 
Our spirits from their urns." 



THE END. 



Js499? 






"^'"'.--y^. 



.^■ '^C' 



\^ "-:<. 



'O 






\^ 






s^^:^^^ ^' <^ 



,XV '/>- 






^^^^\' 



v 



o 



f/ . 




■^0^ :. 
^^^ '^^- z 



^ <>>^ 



' J. V -^ V- 



•^. * '> • 




xO o. 




o-^ -7;^ 



'^^ ,v^' 



'c'^' 

^ 




* 

■5" 












'^r 



■^^ 



V I S 







.^ 



<\ 









.x^'^ ^^ 



ij V 




A ' 


. "^>~ 




A.^ 


\ 


^ ^3 






■>' 





oV 




-^^ .-^ 



V : ^. 






'r S\'' 



''-> s 


0^ 


^0 




O' 


J^ 


■x^ 




^. 


S^' 


"^"" 


V 


o: 






v\^%^\l^.* A^"^ 



rv » *i 



b 0^ 






•'I 






-V -ft •>' 



a\' 



K^^" 









- V 



^^^ .^^ 



%- 















■-y 



'\ 









'ci- 









r ■ 









^ 



.? I, 



-0' ^ 



A 



\ 



'^^ . 



•V.^^ 









I 1 b 



0' .<■'■">? 



-n^. 



X^^^. 






> 



0^' ^ V * '^ 









^^ 



-^ <'\ 



^c^ 



o. 



..V 









^^:^, 










^ ^ <> ^ . \ 












vOo 



V ""v>V--'„ 






-^ 



^ 



■^i. .<^^' 



V^\^ 



-^ , 'Sv^ " o '"j S A 



-x^^- ■^•/>. 






\ n N c ^ '/' 












0- X 



, \ 1 « 



OO 






,0 



4- v. 



N^^ 



^ C". V ■ 






,\*-' > <? til ' "f-" 



v-i^' 



<> <^- 



A^- 






%^^' 
A^^' '^/>. 



